


Rhaine's Tale

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: The Black Phoenix [1]
Category: Forgotten Realms, Neverwinter Nights, Neverwinter Nights 2
Genre: Astral Plane (Forgotten Realms), Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, City of Judgment (Forgotten Realms), Eilistraeens, Fugue Plane (Forgotten Realms), Gen, Kelemvorites, Loss of Control, Major Character Injury, Memory Loss, Minor Character Death, Rashemen (Forgotten Realms), Shadow Plane (Forgotten Realms), Thay (Forgotten Realms), The Underdark (Forgotten Realms), Visions, Waterdeep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2020-06-29 05:37:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 169,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: When darkness falls over the Sword Coast, only one woman stands in its way - a woman sworn to the service of Kelemvor, the Lord of the Dead. With blessed blades, she banishes the shadows encroaching on her homeland.But what happens when she is thrown across the world and must break the tenets of the very faith that gave her the strength to save her people... to saveherself?-----------------------------------------------*Note* - This story is actually my oldest fanfiction (originally on DeviantArt). As such, it has a little different style than my more recent works. A lot of dialogue from the games is included. This was just how I filled in the blanks for a faithful Kelemvorite character, which seemed to be somewhat rare in the fandom. :P





	1. A Higher Calling

The sun was slowly lowering in the sky of the Sword Coast. Within a few hours, it would be twilight. The air was thick and humid, alive with the sounds of insects.

Dunstan slowed his chestnut mare from a trot to a walk as he approached the village of West Harbor. It was a tiny settlement, barely more than a spot in the road. With no inn, he would have to trust in the hospitality of the townsfolk - it was far too close to evening to brave the rest of the way to Waterdeep, and only a fool would traverse near the Mere of Dead Men at night.

A few of the villagers glanced up from their activities as his horse ambled by. On every face was a look of concern… or dread. He met their eyes with a small, but warm smile. Yet, it obviously did nothing to ease their minds.

_Perhaps I would fare better in the Mere…_

“Ho, there!”

A voice came from the left. Striding hurriedly towards him, in flowing golden robes, was a young man of his early twenties – though, like himself, he wore the beard of a clergyman. An expression of excitement lit up the man’s face like the light of the sun.

Dunstan’s smile widened. Perhaps there was hope after all.

“Greetings and blessings, Lathanderite. Could you spare some hospitality for a brother of the cloth?” he inquired, halting his horse with a soft tug of the reins.

“That I can, good brother… Kelemvorite? What brings a servant of the Lord of the Dead to West Harbor?” The man looked over his garb almost in wonderment, as if he’d never seen the like before.

Dunstan swung his leg out of the saddle, dismounting beside the man and draping the reins over one arm. “I come from Waterdeep, on a mission to find capable young recruits for the Temple. I took a ship to Neverwinter, and I have been slowly working my way back south. Unfortunately, I have not seen success. I do hope your West Harbor can change that.”

The man’s eyes widened. “The City of Splendors? Gods above… but,” he shook his head, “I’m sorry. I must apologize for my lack of manners. West Harbor does not see many visitors, much less Waterdhavians. I am Brother Merring, originally of the Church of Lathander in Neverwinter.”

The Kelemvorite inclined his head politely. “I am Brother Dunstan. A pleasure and an honor.”

“The honor is mine, I’m sure,” Merring replied, “Come, and I can-”

At that moment, a balding man in an arming doublet approached, curiosity evident on his face. It appeared he was a militiaman of sorts, and he was in the middle of training the youngest members of the village.

“Ah! A guest! Welcome, welcome!” the man greeted him cheerfully, “Georg, at your service, goodsir. Don’t get many visitors around these parts, and it’s always nice to see a new face. Looks like you’ve already made a friend out of Merring, here.”

“Er, Georg, this is Brother Dunstan,” Merring said, with something of an apologetic smile to his fellow priest, “of the Temple of Kelemvor in Waterdeep.”

“Cyric’s Blood!” Georg’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “ _Waterdeep_?”

“Ah, yes, Georg,” the Lathanderite continued awkwardly, glancing back at Dunstan, “he’s on a recruitment mission, looking for possible candidates to induct into the Kelemvorite church.”

Georg crossed his arms. “Well, I’m sorry to say that your luck is pretty thin if you’re looking around here. Most folk in this little town aren’t too keen on religion. And even fewer would consider going to funeral school.” He laughed a little, but his attempt at humor failed miserably. Dunstan was not at all amused, raising an eyebrow at the militiaman.

“Er, anyway, you might have a little luck with the youngsters, but don’t expect them to be too enthusiastic. And even if you manage to pique some interest, I doubt the parents would agree,” Georg then gestured at the practice field from which he had just come. “All of our youth is trained to defend the village from about ten years of age, younger if they show aptitude. I know every one of them like the back of my hand, and I’d be glad to offer some insight.”

A wooden fence separated the sparring children from the adults. As the three men approached, Dunstan leaned against the fence and watched the combatants closely. Three boys and a girl were in the middle of a disarming practice, each of about twelve to fourteen years. The older teenagers of the town occupied one side, cheering on their favorite. In a small birch tree at the edge of the field sat a twig of a girl, reading a massive tome. She appeared entirely unfazed by the action below.

“Who’s the lass in the tree?” Dunstan asked without looking at his fellows.

“Oh, that’s Amie Fern,” Merring answered. “She’s the newest pupil of the resident spellmaster, Tarmas. She was mildly interested in my own field of study for a while, but her affinity for the arcane pulled her towards the arts of a wizard.”

“I see, very well,” Dunstan replied, returning his attention to the match.

There were two boys sparring with another lad and a small half-elf girl with a flaming red mane. The pair had to be brothers – with the exception of their hair and eye colors, they looked exactly alike. They were very large for their age, and they fought with nothing short of an idiotic ferocity.

Georg must have seen the look of disgust on Dunstan’s face. “Two of the Mossfeld boys,” he supplied, adding quietly, “I’d highly recommend them if you want strongmen with the intelligence of orcs.”

“The duties of a cleric of Kelemvor do tend to be a bit more cerebral,” Dunstan remarked dryly.

He continued watching. The third boy was slightly smaller than his fellows, but no less powerful. He landed a strike with every swing, and he handled his practice blade with a deft hand. He didn’t appear to be at all intimidated by his much larger opponent.

“And that lad?” Dunstan asked.

“Bevil Starling,” Georg said, smiling warmly as he watched the boy. “He’s got a heart of gold, that one. In fact, I’d venture to say he’d make a great paladin, someday. Most of these other boys have no concern whatsoever with right or wrong until they get in trouble with their mothers. Bevil, though, tries hard to do what’s right no matter what. He’s an admirable lad.”

“Unfortunately,” Merring added softly, “his attention span is rather short. And he tends to get distracted very easily.”

As if illustrating the priest’s point, a hawk suddenly cried out overhead. Bevil immediately looked up, and within an instant, his opponent had not only disarmed him, but also swiped his legs out from under him. The Starling boy landed with a _thud_ in the dirt, and a roar of laughter came from his opponent and the teenage crowd. Dunstan winced, feeling more than a little sorry for him.

“Alright, you two are out!” Georg shouted, gesturing for the boys to leave the field.

All that remained now were the half-elven girl and her Mossfeld foe. She seemed angry at the way her teammate had been treated. She danced around her sparring partner with a furious look on her face, her long red hair matted to her forehead with sweat. Like Bevil, she handled a blade with surprising ease. But there was also something different about this one… something more than met the eye. Dunstan recognized this about her immediately.

“And what about the red-haired lass?” he inquired, pointing.

Georg grinned broadly. “She’s probably your most likely candidate. That would be Rhaine Alcinea. She’s like Bevil, but with less strength and more focus. She’s also the only one of the youngsters who hasn’t really found her calling, yet.”

“Tarmas tried to teach her a few arcane spells in an attempt to rope in two apprentices, but she didn’t have the ability,” Merring elaborated. “Though, it certainly wasn’t for a lack of intelligence. She does appear to have an interest in the divine, but I don’t think the clergy of Lathander pulls her strongly enough. Besides, her foster father, Daeghun Farlong, is grooming her to become a ranger like him.”

“Though she doesn’t have the aptitude at all,” Georg said with a shake of his head. “The girl couldn’t be stealthy if she tried. And her training with a bow isn’t getting any better. She’s comfortable with a blade in her hand, and that’s mostly it.”

Dunstan continued to watch her, rubbing at his bearded chin. _Yes, she might do…._

“An orphan, eh?”

Georg nodded, “That she is. Both her mother and Daeghun’s wife died almost fifteen years ago in a terrible war that consumed the villages of the Mere. There never was a father around, so Daeghun became her warden. And that’s about all he is to her, too.”

“Rhaine has spent more time raising herself than Daeghun has,” Merring remarked somewhat sadly. “Sometimes I think he blames her for his wife’s death. I’m afraid that the only thing Rhaine has learned from him is coldness, bitterness, and stubbornness.”

“That being said,” Georg continued, “if you’re going to try and recruit her, may the luck of the gods be with you. Daeghun will never agree to it. Even though he doesn’t seem to like Rhaine at all, he’s still got her in an iron grip.”

At that moment, Rhaine disarmed her opponent, and with a sudden movement, took his legs out from under him in the same manner as his brother had Bevil. A satisfied grin spread across her face as she looked down on the beaten Mossfeld boy.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Just you wait, you freakish little twerp!” the boy protested from his prone position. “I’ll get you next time!”

“Sure, Wyl,” Rhaine retorted with a snort. “Just like you said you would last practice.”

Georg’s call came across the field, “Alright, kids! Weapons in the barrel!”

Rhaine pranced away from her fallen partner, refusing to help him up for his insult. It was at that moment she saw the stranger. He appeared to be deep in discussion with Brother Merring, standing beside his rather fat chestnut mare. He wore dark hooded robes, slit for riding, with a massive sword belted to his side.

“Who’s he?”

Bevil had sidled up beside her. His cheek was smeared with dirt from his fall, his brown locks flattened from sweat, sapphire eyes reflecting curiosity.

There was a soft _thud_ behind them. Amie jumped down from her perch in the tree, snapping her book closed. “He’s been here for about an hour. Rode in and started talking with Merring and Georg.”

“I wonder why,” Rhaine remarked, brow furrowing slightly.

“Well, he was watching you two rather intently,” Amie said matter-of-factly, wiping her ash-blonde hair out of her eyes.

“That’s creepy,” said Bevil simply. At that, Rhaine elbowed him in the ribs, eliciting an “Ow!”

They strode together up to the old rotting barrel, placing their practice weapons inside, when Rhaine heard Georg call, “Alcinea! Come on over here.”

Obediently, she walked over to the balding man, trying not to stare at the stranger, “Yes, sir?”

“Well done, Rhaine. Well done, indeed. You’re improving every day,” Georg said, placing a hand on her shoulder, “Our guest here is thoroughly impressed.”

She took this as her cue to actually look at the stranger. He met her eyes with a soft brown gaze, and he smiled gently at her, simply nodding to affirm Georg’s words.

“Hi!” Rhaine greeted him happily, emerald eyes sparkling. “Welcome to West Harbor.”

The stranger then cracked a grin and inclined his head to her politely. “Why, thank you, young lady.”

Georg gave her a little push. “Alright, Rhaine. Go home and wash up. Rhetta told me that she’s cooking a nice stew tonight, so if you want to skip the salted meats, you’re welcome to come to her house for dinner.”

“Alright Georg,” she said with a grin, turning for her small house on the edge of town. Looking back once to wave at Bevil, she called, “See you at dinner, Starling!”

And with that, she was off.

\------------------------------------------------------

Dunstan watched her go, and he felt a small pain inside. She reminded him so much of his own bright-eyed daughter, who had died, along with his wife, of a mysterious fever. He wondered if, being an orphan, she missed her mother and father. Or, having never known them, did she think of them at all?

After a few long, silent moments, Merring returned Dunstan’s thoughts to the present. “Brother Dunstan, if you wish, I can provide food and lodging for you tonight. And I can run a few errands for you around the village, should you need them.”

The Kelemvorite rubbed his horse’s muzzle, nodding to the fellow priest. “That will do, Brother Merring, thank you.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine laid her spoon in the empty bowl and got up to take it to the wash bin.

“Seconds, dear?” Rhetta Starling asked, readjusting the toddler on her hip – Bevil’s younger brother. Their little sister hung on to Rhetta’s skirt with one hand, orbiting her like a small planet.

“No, thank you, Miss Rhetta,” Rhaine replied politely, placing her dirty dishes in the bin carefully, so as not to splash the water.

Bevil was still at the table, ravenously devouring his second bowl of stew. Amie watched him from the other end with a look of disgust mixed with amusement on her face. Rhaine returned to her seat between the two, exchanging knowing looks with Amie.

As if sensing those looks, Bevil glanced up, his mouth still full of potatoes. “What?”

Almost instantaneously, Rhetta smacked him on top of the head with a book. “Don’t talk with your mouth full!”

His mother shook her head in dismay at her son’s poor manners and then sat across from Rhaine, setting the toddler gently on the floor beside her. After, she slid the book across the table. “This is for you, Rhaine. Brother Merring dropped by shortly before you arrived. Said you might want to look at it since you like to read before bed. He did say to take a look at the note inside first, though.”

Rhaine picked up the tome, her eyes taking in every detail. It was larger than she was used to, and it looked fairly new. The cover was leather, and stamped in gold on the front was a strange symbol: what looked like a skeleton’s forearm holding a set of scales. She curiously ran her fingers over the symbol, then glanced up at Rhetta. “What’s it about?”

Rhetta smiled faintly. “That’s for you to find out.”

At that moment, the door to the Starling house opened, and Daeghun stepped in. His bow was slung over one shoulder, and a snare of seven rabbits was slung over the other.

“There you are, Rhaine. Come, it’s time to go home.”

Rhaine bid goodbye to her friends and Rhetta, then quietly followed her foster father. From his thinned lips, it was obvious that he wasn’t happy about her staying so late at another house. Thus, they walked in silence almost until they reached their home.

“What’s that?” Daeghun inquired, gesturing to the book she held.

“Oh, just a book Brother Merring gave me.”

The wood elf’s mouth thinned again at her words and he shook his head, his tone bitter. “I have yet to understand the need to keep written records. They are like most things in this world; they eventually turn to dust and are forgotten.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Dunstan stood on the edge of town, holding his sacred amulet in one hand. His head was bowed towards the west, to the quickly setting sun. He mouthed his prayers with his eyes closed, but behind his lids he could see the text that he had studied for months and finally memorized. When he finished, he let his hand drop to his side, but he kept his eyes shut, savoring the momentary silence of twilight and the peace it brought to his mind.

At last, he allowed his thoughts to wander again. Rhaine was his last hope. If she found no interest in his god or his church, then he would fail his mission. But he couldn’t understand the Temple sending him northwards if it weren’t for a good reason. And yet he had no luck at all thus far…

Perhaps he didn’t go far enough. Perhaps he should have gone to Luskan, or even to Icewind Dale. It would have helped if they had given him more direction, but they didn’t seem able to offer any.

_Search the cities and towns of the North to find a servant for our god…_

Suddenly, it hit him, and he cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. They didn’t know because they _couldn’t_ know. One of the priests, maybe even the High Father himself, had been given a _vision -_ and because of its naturally cryptic nature, the only thing they knew was _North_. That had to be it.

_You will know them when you see them…_

His gut. He had to trust his gut. And his gut had turned him away from everyone but this little half-elven girl.

He prayed his instinct was right.

\------------------------------------------------------

“…and I would appreciate it if you stayed away from my daughter,” came Daeghun’s raised voice. He was in the midst of a heated argument with Dunstan; he had discovered the priest’s intent, and he was not at all pleased.

“How do you know she isn’t interested? Have you even talked with her about it?”

“Only a fool would find that nonsense -”

Daeghun stopped abruptly as he saw Rhaine approaching. She was exhausted, and the morning sun was glaring far too brightly through the trees. Between daily practices, increasing chores, and nightly reading, she was about to drop like a rock. Nevertheless, the girl bit her lip and continued walking purposely forward, book in hand. She went until she reached Dunstan, and then held the tome out towards him with her arm outstretched.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’ve made up my mind. I want to go with you. I have to know more.”

Brother Dunstan took the book slowly, hardly believing his ears. “You actually read it? But, I didn’t expect you to-”

She nodded. “All of it. Every word. Took me most of the past few nights. There were _some_ words,” she added, a sheepish smile on her face, “that I couldn’t work out. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t understand the message.”

“You’re telling me you stayed up nearly all night for the past three days to read that ridiculous book? I thought I told you to get rid of it!” The fury was evident in Daeghun’s brown eyes, though his face was solid stone. He took Rhaine none-too-gently by the arm and pulled her towards their house, telling Dunstan over his shoulder, “She’s not going anywhere. Look elsewhere for your sheep.”

Rhaine, with a strength she didn’t know she possessed, jerked her arm out of his grip. “No!”

It wasn’t like her to do something so disobedient. But she was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of fear and desperation. This was her chance to see the wider world. This was where she felt like she belonged, for the first time in her life. She couldn’t pass that up, not when it might be the only chance she ever had. And Daeghun couldn’t understand.

The elf whirled on her. “Don’t you tell me ‘no’! You are my-”

“ _Foster daughter_!” Rhaine angrily supplied, “And you don’t even treat me like one! I don’t _want_ to be a ranger! I don’t _want_ to stay in this village my whole life! And I don’t _want_ to be like _you_!”

There was an expression of momentary shock on the elf’s face, and for an instant, Rhaine wondered if she truly had hurt him. But it only took a second for the stone mask to return. The look he gave her was chillingly cold. He then abruptly turned away from her, continuing to the Farlong house by himself.

“Then _leave_.”

She watched, trembling all over as the elf’s strides quickened and the door slammed behind him so loudly the whole village could have heard it. Despite the wide gap that had always existed between them, Rhaine suddenly felt more alone than ever. It was then she felt Dunstan’s hand rest lightly upon her shoulder and gently squeeze as tears formed in her eyes.

\------------------------------------------------------

Georg stood with Merring, watching as Dunstan’s horse cantered southward, Rhaine’s red mane bobbing up and down with the mare’s strides.

The Lathanderite sighed heavily. “Do you think she’ll come back?”

Georg was silent for a few moments. The horse’s form was now becoming fainter as it went, the figures riding it becoming less and less distinct.

“Nope.”


	2. Revelation

“Come on then. Again!”

The sharp voice of the instructor rang throughout the practice yard, echoing off of the intricate stonework of the temple.

Rhaine lunged at him with a backhanded swing, which he deftly parried and countered with a swipe to her abdomen. She jumped back and then thrust towards his exposed left side. He dodged smoothly and feinted to the right before coming overhand at her head. She barely brought up her sword in time, and the blades connected with a definitive _clang_.

They came together with more force than she anticipated, though, and she lost her grip on her weapon. It dropped like a stone, and with her balance lost, so did she. Her back hit the dirt hard, pain emanating from her shoulder blades and pelvis. Her eyes grew wide momentarily as her instructor’s blade kept coming from the momentum of his strike, and she held up her hands defensively as the blade’s tip whirred right above her nose.

Rhaine suddenly felt an odd tingling sensation, and a bright light burst from her palms, washing over her armored body like a golden shell. There was a collective gasp from the other students, who had assembled in the surrounding alcoves, waiting their turn for individual training. The instructor looked stunned for an instant, and then his brow knitted in obvious fury.

Roughly jerking her back to her feet he demanded, “Where did you learn to do that? I thought I told you not to use magic! And _Shield of Faith_ is not a paladin cantrip!”

Rhaine’s eyes were still wide, now with both fear and disbelief. “What? I don’t know-“

“Have you been listening in on classes, hmm? Or has good Brother Dunstan been tutoring you on the side?”

The young half-elf could barely comprehend what was going on. “No! I-I haven’t, I swear!”

“We’ll see about that,” the instructor retorted. “ _Dunstan_! Where are you?”

As they waited for the priest in question to respond, murmurs circulated throughout the throng of acolytes: “ _Alcinea’s been eavesdropping_.” “ _Overachiever_.” “ _Always thought she was weird_.” “ _Rule-breaker… she should be expelled from the Temple_.”

Brother Dunstan finally appeared at the balcony above, one brow lifted. “You called, Matthias?”

The instructor still had Rhaine’s forearm in a vice grip. “Yes I did, Dunstan. Your charge just managed to cast a _Shield of Faith_ on herself in the middle of practice. Care to explain?”

Dunstan glanced at Rhaine. There was an expression of positive terror on her face. Whatever she had done, it clearly wasn’t intentional.

“I’m afraid I cannot,” he replied at length, dark eyes narrowing as he leaned against the banister. “And if you are insinuating that I have been teaching her on the side, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Then how, pray tell, could she have cast it, Dunstan?” the instructor asked angrily.

“I do not know. Perhaps, in her late-night studies, she mistook one spell for another.”

“All paladin spells require verbal components, Dunstan, and she used none!”

“Then perhaps she has simply been blessed, Matthias!” Dunstan exclaimed, increasingly annoyed. “Perhaps it is not up to _you_ what spells our Lord Kelemvor grants to whom!”

“That… is… _enough_.”

A deathly quiet voice from the opposite balcony made the hairs stand up on the back of everyone’s neck. Tears swimming in Rhaine’s eyes, she quickly blinked them away to focus on the black-clad figure above her, and her heart skipped a beat.

It was the High Father Gerard. He was an aging man, with stark white hair and icy blue eyes, the gaze that glowed from beneath the shadows of his cowl sharp and unsettling. He wore the black robes exclusive to his rank, the elegant silver embroidery glinting in the midday sun.

“High Father, how good of you to-” the instructor began, but Gerard held up a bony hand to silence him.

“Alcinea. Dunstan. Come with me.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Dunstan followed close behind Rhaine, placing a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. He knew she must have been scared out of her wits. He could beat the living hells out of Matthias for frightening her like that. Thankfully, the spell had dissipated, so there was no a physical remnant of the event. But even so, there was no doubt that it was all still fresh in her mind.

The High Father led them to his quarters. Dunstan had been to those chambers only rarely – it was considered an honor to receive a private audience with the Temple’s most powerful and eldest member.

“Close the door behind you, Dunstan.”

He obeyed with a bow. “Of course, Father.”

Gerard moved to his desk, seating himself in an elaborately carved chair. Rhaine had already stopped halfway into the room, partially taking in her surroundings and partially due to caution. It was a stately chamber…second only to the main nave in lavishness.

“Come, Rhaine,” Gerard beckoned. “You, too, Dunstan. Have a seat.”

The two came forward slowly, taking chairs opposite the High Father. Both of them, Rhaine in particular, were uncomfortably rigid. Seemingly sensing this, Gerard smiled at them. “This is not an interrogation. I know what happened. The question that remains is how?”

His words and smile were intended to comfort, Dunstan knew. But they didn’t. Perhaps it was because the High Father was always so enigmatic and chilling, if unintentionally so. Perhaps it was also because he had been the former leader of the local Temple of Myrkul before Kelemvor’s ascension.

“For the past two years, you have not been studying clerical spells in any fashion,” he began at last, looking between the two and settling on Rhaine, “and yet you successfully cast one with no verbal components, albeit a weak one, moments ago. Can you recall how it happened? Tell me how you felt.”

Rhaine hesitated, her gaze dropping. “Well… Father… I don’t really know. I just… I was knocked down in practice and I saw Sir Matthias’s blade coming down and I - I threw my hands into the air and it just… _happened_.”

“I see,” Gerard replied quietly, leaning back in his chair. He seemed lost in thought for a long moment.

“Matthias is correct in that gods generally have strict rules regarding what spells are given to which followers,” he continued, “such is their nature. They are very selective in the distribution of their power. This is for mutual benefit, of course. Deities provide specific powers that help certain groups and factions meet that god’s desired ends. These powers are also tailored to the followers’ physical and intellectual abilities. However, you are also correct, Dunstan, in that we have no say as to how a god may grant divine strength – regardless of whether or not it violates their own doctrine.

“It is, on the other hand, extremely unlikely that Kelemvor would break his own rules, being of such a lawful mind as he is,” Gerard added pointedly. “I believe that he is guiding your path in another direction, Rhaine. Perhaps he has seen something in you that he feels would be better suited elsewhere in the Church.”

“So,” Dunstan interjected, a realization dawning within him, “you are saying that, instead of granting Rhaine additional powers as a paladin, our Lord Kelemvor is steering her into another career entirely?”

“Precisely,” Gerard replied with a short not. “Which now leads us to another question – which path is it?”

Dunstan’s brow furrowed at the question, as he was certain there could be only one other choice. “Wouldn’t she be a cleric, then?”

Gerard held up his hand. “I shall get to that momentarily. Now, Rhaine, it is obvious that your spell was cast because you – if only for an instant - felt as though you were in true danger. Without any verbal components or prior knowledge of the spell, it was weak. But it manifested, nonetheless. This suggests it is tied to your very being, not your intellect.”

He leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the desk, “I need you to do something for me, Rhaine.”

Dunstan watched with rapt attention. It was obvious that the High Father was eager to test something.

_What is he thinking?_

“Yes, Father?” she asked timidly.

“Close your eyes. Imagine a ball of light, about the size of an egg. Think about it carefully… imagine its brightness, its fluctuation, its color… everything about it. Concentrate on it, as if it is the only thing that exists.”

He waited a few moments, letting her visualize. Finally, he said, “Now, hold your hand aloft, and when you are ready, imagine letting that light loose into the world with your very will.”

Rhaine held her hand outwards, and Dunstan could see that her fingers were trembling. She swallowed hard, and then opened her eyes once more.

Instantly, a flash of light burst into being a few inches above her palm. It was bright white, hovering in place, fluctuating ever so slightly in shape and size. However, in just a few seconds, it dissipated, winking out as if it had never been.

Still, Rhaine’s mouth was agape, her emerald eyes as wide as saucers as she glanced back and forth between Dunstan and Gerard. Upon the High Father’s face was a look of satisfaction. He nodded, as if affirming something.

“What does this mean, Father?” Dunstan queried, uncertainty in his tone.

At that, Gerard smiled wryly. “It means she’s one incredibly lucky girl. Rhaine is a Favored Soul.”

\------------------------------------------------------

“I’m a _what_?”

It took a moment for the High Father’s words to register. She looked at Dunstan, whose mouth was slightly open in shock. She was still reeling from Matthias’s accusations. Now, suddenly, she was lucky? What in the hells was going on?

The High Father chuckled at her reaction. “A Favored Soul,” he repeated. “You’ve been blessed by Kelemvor in more ways than you realize.

“Perhaps this is the best way to explain. As you know, there is a marked difference between wizards and sorcerers - although both are practitioners of arcane magic, they approach their craft in two different ways. Wizards must spend their whole lives studying tomes and practicing invocations, carefully applying their knowledge and honing their somatic and verbal skills for the simplest of spells. Sorcerers, on the other hand, have inborn magical talent. Their arcane power lies within, and it only takes a certain strength of will to shape that power into whatever form they choose.

“There is a similar difference between clerics and Favored Souls. We clerics study divine magic much in the way that wizards study the arcane, with the addition of praying for access to such spells – which gods can deny. Favored Souls, however, have no such anchors tying them down. There is no need for memorization and no need for prayer. The divine magic that we must plead for on a daily basis constantly resides within _you._ ” He pointed to Rhaine. “All that is required is a willpower strong enough to call it forth.”

“What does that mean for her studies?” Dunstan asked. “Where does she go from here?”

“Well,” Gerard mused aloud, “her paladin training is officially over – so, no more practices with Matthias, I’m afraid. And official clerical training will do her no good, as it is not tailored to her specific needs. However, she _will_ require knowledge of Kelemvor’s spells. Powers for clerics and Favored Souls, at least on a basic level, are one and the same. It is the method in which they are cast that is different. Therefore, Dunstan, I would like _you_ to teach Rhaine from our books – not only incantations, but also planar lore. You’ve known her longer than any other instructor here, and since you have witnessed her talent firsthand, you know not to ever mistake it for cheating on her part.”

Gerard then finally stood, indicating that their meeting was officially over, and his sharp gaze settled on Rhaine once more. “So, begin your studies on the morrow. And I would thank Kelemvor this night for your gift, young lady, even if you don’t believe that it is such. You will soon grow to appreciate it, of that I assure you.”


	3. Benediction

Rhaine looked in the mirror.

 _Six years_.

Very nearly six years had passed since Dunstan had taken her from West Harbor and the Mere.

She was no longer the cherub-faced little girl, but a striking young woman. Her face had become angular and more elven as it matured, though with softer bone structure than most of that race. Her emerald eyes had brightened in color and taken on a slight slant. Her lips had darkened and become fuller, as had her auburn hair – the tips of her elven ears scarcely surfaced above the thick red waves. What’s more, her robes actually fit her now, hugging her curves rather than hanging like a sack on her shoulders as they did during her awkward teenage years.

Her slender hand went to the sacred medallion at her neck, as it often did when she was lost in thought. It was the mark of her full sisterhood, which had been granted shortly after she turned eighteen. The High Father had continued to push her, however; in a way, he seemed almost desperate to teach her the greatest secrets of the Kelemvorite Church. And, on the morrow, she would be put to a test. Not a trial, an exam, or even a recitation of knowledge. No, such were long past for her.

Tomorrow, she would be a supplicant to Kelemvor himself.

She would be asking for the greatest gift his clerics could receive: the coveted title of Doomguide. Although, to most outsiders, all priests and priestesses of the order were “doomguides”, the official epithet was only granted to the greatest members of the Church – the most loyal, the most promising, the most powerful, the most knowledgeable, and the most experienced.

She was not lacking in loyalty or knowledge. Power was debatable. And she was certainly lacking in experience. This, of course, made her skeptical. She was certain the High Father would not steer her wrong… and yet, what if she was refused? Although it happened regularly, it would be quite the embarrassment. Rhaine knew that Gerard was banking on the fact that she was a Favored Soul already. But what if he was wrong? And why was it so important to him? Although she appreciated his confidence in her, he seemed to be driving her for a reason.

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in.”

Brother Dunstan – _Father_ Dunstan, now – opened her room door. “Might I speak with you a moment, Sister?”

“Of course.” Rhaine replied with a polite inclination of her head. “Do have a seat.”

He closed the door behind him and pulled up a stool, sitting across from her. His robes were a darker brown than his usual garb, fanciful golden stitching at his wrists and throat. His face had become more weathered with time, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes had deepened, and his hair now streaked with grey. His eyes still held comforting warmth, though, and they sparkled as he smiled at her.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he inquired gently.

Rhaine sighed heavily and nodded, briefly glancing away. “As ready as I’ll ever be. I don’t think there’s a scrap of paper or tome in this Temple that I haven’t studied, yet. I’ve practiced _Turning_ enough to be able to do it in my sleep. My sword might as well be another limb. The only thing I’m afraid of is…”

“Rejection?” he supplied.

She nodded, a little sheepishly this time. Dunstan then took her hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. “You’ll be fine. If you are rejected I would be very surprised. You are the jewel of this Temple, and Gerard knows it.”

“Why is he so anxious?” she asked lowly. “Why does he seem to want this even more than I?”

Dunstan sighed, looking away for a long moment before returning his gaze to her.

“Gerard is dying, Rhaine. He has been for a while now,” he said at length. “It is to be expected, of course – the man is ancient… well over a century old. I think he sees you as redemption, of sorts – a final benediction, if you will. You are his last opportunity to show his god that he can accomplish something good.”

“But, why? Why would he do that?” Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“You know as well as I do that he used to be a High Priest of Myrkul before the Time of Troubles,” Dunstan explained, “and Myrkulites weren’t known for their benevolence. They were advocates of necromancy… most of them avid necromancers themselves. They reveled in slaughter, murder, and death. And Gerard was one of them.

“When Cyric took the Throne of the Dead after the Lord of Bones’s fall, Gerard was one of the few survivors of the carnage at the Temple of Myrkul here. He fled to escape persecution. But after Kelemvor ousted Cyric from the City of Judgment, Gerard returned. He had received a vision from Kelemvor himself… had been offered his former station if he promised to renounce the evil of his former Church. He did so gladly, as the realization had dawned within him of the wrong of his past deeds.

“Gerard has been seeking a way to atone ever since – a way to pay Kelemvor back for leading him, even welcoming him, to the path of righteousness. He was already aged when he returned to Waterdeep, so his options were limited. Until he learned about you,” he finished with a slight smile.

“Wait, was he the one-”

Dunstan nodded slowly. “After my promotion, he summoned me to his office. He explained all of that I have divulged to you. He also told me that Kelemvor spoke not another word to him until he gave the vision of you… the star in the North that I was to seek out. Gerard is convinced that such a vision had great meaning for both him and for you. And so, he resolved to teach you everything he could and more – to make you the most powerful Kelemvorite in this Temple, perhaps even in all the Sword Coast.

“In you he has imparted all of his knowledge and skill, and he has cultivated the power that Kelemvor has bestowed upon you. You are what he could have been, had his soul not been stained by the sins of his past. That’s why he pushes you so hard for greatness,” Dunstan concluded.

“So, if I were rejected tomorrow, it would mean more pain for Gerard than it would for me,” Rhaine murmured, the gears turning behind her eyes, “because it would mean that, in his eyes, he failed his god.”

“Yes,” Dunstan replied solemly, “but please don’t let that worry you. Gerard’s past is his own monster to deal with. When you stand before Kelemvor tomorrow, it will be _your_ merit and yours alone that will be judged. And if you want to know my honest opinion about it,” he added with a reassuring wink, “I don’t think there’s a chance in the Hells that you will be found unworthy.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Dusk was arriving quickly. The time was almost upon her.

The West Chapel had been cleaned and prepared for her, draped in ceremonial banners and wreaths. All of the candelabras were lit, offering a warm golden glow to the stone nave. Rhaine had donned her formal robes, her hood up. She stood outside the chapel door, bouncing on her heels slightly with nervousness. She vigorously shook her hands to try and rid herself of the growing feeling of anticipation building in her gut, but to no avail.

Gerard approached, Dunstan with him. The former was quite bent now, unable to straighten his posture. His frame had become much thinner over the years. But his eyes still burned with an unnerving fire that pierced her to the soul.

“Do you remember the supplication I taught you?” he asked, his once chilling voice now horribly hoarse and raspy.

“Yes, High Father,” she said with a bow. Now that she knew much of his story, she couldn’t help but look on him with pity.

He nodded. “Very well, Rhaine. Proceed into the chapel, and I shall lock the door, so none may disturb you. Spend your evening in thoughtful prayer, and when the bells toll midnight, you know what to do. May Kelemvor be with you, child.”

“Good luck, Rhaine,” Dunstan added quietly.

With that, she turned and entered the chapel. The door closed and locked with a final click.

And she was alone.

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine’s knees ached with pain.

She had been kneeling on the stone floor for five hours. Although there was a cushion beneath her, her bones seemed to separate the stuffing and were now grinding excruciatingly into the granite below. On top of that, her legs were numb with sleep, and her stomach was threatening to growl blasphemously in the quiet.

Over the course of the evening, the altar before her had begun to look larger-than-life. The more she sat before it, the bigger it appeared. It was all in her head, of course, but as the time came nearer and nearer, the thing became more and more intimidating. The wall piece behind the altar, a giant brass rendition of Kelemvor’s holy symbol, glimmered in the firelight, and she could have sworn that those golden scales had moved.

Of a sudden, the bell tower sounded the midnight hour, its rich tones resonating throughout the city like a gong.

She swallowed hard, closing her eyes, her voice shaking a little from nerves as she began the supplication.

“My Lord Kelemvor - Lord of the Dead, Judge of the Damned, and Master of the Crystal Spire - I ask that you turn your gaze to me for but a moment. I ask you, with utmost humility in my heart, to grant me your favor and boon as a Doomguide. I vow to serve most faithfully as a servant to your cause, for all of my mortal days and beyond. I vow to uphold your laws and your doctrine with unwavering loyalty. I vow to protect the living with all my power, hunt the undead and their masters with all of my strength, and grant peace to the dying wherever they may be found. For your blessing, Lord Kelemvor, I pray.”

She held her breath. A minute crawled by. Then two. Then three.

The silence that followed was deafening – so much so that she was afraid to breathe for fear of breaking it. She subconsciously clutched at her amulet, staring unblinkingly at the altar so as not to miss a thing. As time went on, however, her heart began to sink, and she started to believe that the High Father had been wrong…

And then, the chapel began to change. The flames of the candles slowly turned from golden in hue to pale green… one at a time… creeping up from the rear of the nave. The temperature dropped, a draft blowing through the chapel as if the windows had suddenly been let open. Her pulse began to race with anticipation, heart hammering against her ribcage and in her ears. _Acceptance? Rejection? Which is it?_

Once the green flames reached the candelabras flanking the altar, they leaped to the scales upon the wall, illuminating the holy symbol in an eerie flare of light. A bright white sliver suddenly manifested above the altar itself, starting small but lengthening with each second until it took the form of a bastard sword. The weapon bore a mirror-like sheen, the hilt wrapped in studded black leather. A single, coin-sized peridot adorned the octagonal pommel, matching the green fire in hue. With the distinct sound of scraping steel that echoed around the room, a black sheath slid onto the blade, complete with belt, the whole set hovering as if suspended from the ceiling by a thread.

A voice then spoke, seemingly from both within her head and without, consuming her hearing. It struck her at once as deep, dark, and smooth… whisper-soft, but resonating with strength… frightening, yet also strangely calming…

“ _Accept your blade, mortal, and with it my approval. Its name is_ Touch of Death _, and it shall serve you even as you serve me. Use it to further my cause in the Realms, my Doomguide, and we both shall benefit. Go now, and with my blessings_.”

The voice and the green fire vanished, leaving only the sword still suspended in midair, pulsing softly with a pale light. Rhaine could scarcely believe what had just happened. She slowly stood on protesting legs and approached the altar. Touching the blade would be confirmation that it wasn’t a dream, that what she saw _did_ happen, and she reached out with trembling fingers.

Their tips brushed cool steel as she touched the pommel. Her knees nearly collapsed beneath her, and she had to lean on the altar as she took the sword by the hilt and scabbard.

 _Her_ sword - _Touch of Death_.

She pulled out the blade slightly, gazing in awe at the shining surface. It was a fairly simple, yet gorgeous weapon. And when her abilities grew to match her knowledge, it would burn with the flame of _Fatal Touch_ itself: Kelemvor’s own mighty bastard sword. It was a sacred link that only Doomguides could establish.

Re-sheathing the blade, she left the chapel to return to her quarters, a merry skip in her step; she was hardly able to contain her joy and excitement, filling her like a child’s glee. Rhaine wondered what Dunstan and, more importantly, Gerard would say in the morning about it all. And as she dressed for bed and prepared for sleep, she could only hope that, upon hearing good news, the High Father would finally be able to find inner peace.

\------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately, Rhaine found that she couldn’t sleep at all; she was up and about before dawn. She had belted her new sword to her side, and she was astonished at its lightness. She went to the practice yard and swung it around a few times, getting used to the feel. It was, without a doubt, made for her. The weight, the speed… it was perfect.

When the bells sounded the seventh hour, she waited in the cloister for Father Dunstan, and when he saw her from the far end of the hall, he rushed towards her.

“What news-” he began, but then he saw the weapon slung at her hip. At that, he took her by the shoulders, grinning like a fool with joy. “You did it! Rhaine, _you did it_!”

He took her up in a gigantic embrace, squeezing her so tightly she thought she would burst. Rhaine found herself grinning as widely as he, and she hugged him back fiercely.

“I’m so proud of you, Sister Rhaine,” Dunstan said, “And I-”

He stopped as Sister Bethany began sprinting down the corridor towards them, calling breathlessly, “Dunstan! Rhaine! Come quick! It’s Father Gerard. He’s dying!”

The two immediately broke apart, following Bethany as quickly as their legs would take them. She led them to Gerard’s ante-chambers, where most of the upper-level clergy had gathered. Bethany pushed Rhaine towards the darkened bedroom. “Go, quickly! He’s asked for you by name!”

Rhaine wasted no time, entering the dimly lit room and closing the door behind her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low lighting, and when she finally saw Gerard’s form on the bed, she was afraid he was already dead. That was, until she saw his chest rise and fall once in a shallow breath. Approaching him slowly, then, she sat on the edge of the bed and took his frail hand into her own, involuntarily shivering at the coldness of his flesh.

His head turned slowly towards her, his once piercing electric-blue eyes now glazed and dull. “Rhaine. You… you were accepted. I must… congratulate you. You… have done so well.”

He spoke in halting phrases, his hoarse voice barely above a whisper. In response, she squeezed his hand very gently, tears pricking in her eyes. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Nonsense,” he rasped, a hacking cough following that hurt her to hear it. “You… were guided by Kelemvor all along… you never needed any of us.”

He coughed again, his face wincing with pain. “He… has granted me clarity in my final hour… he has shown me… the path that you walk. It is… paved with loss and death. A… _darkness_ … creeps across the Sword Coast. Only you… can push it back…”

Her brow furrowed as she heard these words. Gerard’s cough was weakening, and she had to lean directly over his face to hear what he had to say.

“You… have been given your gifts for a reason. They… are the only things that can protect you from what is to come… and they are the only things that will enable you to succeed. You… you must trust in them, Rhaine. Trust in Kelemvor… and never lose faith in yourself.”

His voice faded even more, and for a long moment, he was silent.

Finally, though, he spoke again, barely breathing now. “Return to West Harbor, Rhaine Alcinea… return to your people. They… have need of you.”

“I shall, High Father,” she whispered, a tear trickling down her cheek.

He cracked a small smile at that, meeting her eyes. “Don’t weep for me, young one. I go to my judgment with a light heart… and for that, I thank you.”

His eyes closed slowly, his smile fading as his breathing grew even shallower. And then his hand went limp in hers at last.

She closed his eyes as silent tears flowed from her own, crossing his arms over his chest and pulling the sheet over his head. Then, for the first time in her life, she recited the customary Passing, so that his spirit would easily find the realm of the dead.

It would not be the last time she would utter those holy words.

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine remained at the Temple until after High Father Gerard’s funeral. The day after the services, she prepared to leave, packing what she needed and donning her armor. As she strapped her sword to her hip and put on her traveling cloak, Dunstan peeked around the doorframe and into her room.

“Getting ready to leave, eh? Well, I’ve got something to give you before you do, so don’t get too hasty,” he said with a grin.

“Give me? Dunstan, you don’t have to give me-”

“I know, I know,” he replied, holding up his hands to halt her protests, “but I’m going to anyway. Come with me.”

Brow furrowing, she picked up her pack, checked her room one final time, and then followed the Father closely. After walking for a ways, he moved behind her and put his hands over her eyes like a parent playing with a child.

“ _Dunstan_!”

“Just let me guide you. You’ll be fine,” he said, pushing her onwards down the corridors.

Finally, they went outside, and then inside again, and the distinct smell of leather and hay tickled her nostrils.

“The stables? Dunstan, you didn’t-”

He removed his hands. “Ta-da!”

Before her stood a snow-white horse, decked out in Temple tack of rich brown leather and silver bossing. It was a slender riding horse, with soft brown eyes and a black muzzle, and its mane and tail were flaxen.

“Her name’s Angel,” Dunstan supplied simply.

Rhaine wordlessly approached the horse, stroking the mare’s mane and petting her velvety nose in awe. “By the gods, she’s beautiful.”

“And she’s all yours,” Dunstan added. “You’ll need her, if you’re going to be traveling a lot. And, if Gerard’s words are any indication, you will be.”

At that, Rhaine spun around and abruptly hugged Dunstan to her fiercely, sobbing into his shoulder as she was unable to keep her emotions at bay any longer. “Thank you, Father. Thank you. I’m going to miss you so much.”

“And I, you, Rhaine,” he replied chokingly, beginning to weep silently with her.

After a moment, though, he pushed back from her and waved her on, wiping the tears from his cheeks with one hand. “Go on, Rhaine. You’ll need to leave now if you want to get to West Harbor before the Harvest Fair.”

She nodded, wiping the tears from her own face and turning back to Angel. Placing her foot in the stirrup, she swung into the saddle with the creak of leather and the clink of buckles.

“Goodbye, Father Dunstan. I’ll write to you when I can. Until we meet again, may Kelemvor bless you and keep you,” she said at length, putting her fist to her chest in the formal gesture of farewell.

“And you, Rhaine Alcinea,” he replied, mimicking the motion with a dip of his head. “Now go, and face your destiny.”


	4. Homecoming

“Bevil, your staring at the road isn’t going to make her come any faster.”

“She said she’d be here in time for the Fair, Amie!”

“And I’m sure she will. The day isn’t over, yet.”

“Yes, but-”

“I know, I know. You want her to compete with us since it’s our last chance. But have you considered the fact that she might be just a _little_ tired from the trip?”

“Well, I-”

Bevil stopped again, squinting hard, his sapphire eyes focusing on a lone figure far in the distance, blurred and slightly distorted by the haze of the marsh.

“Is that her?”

Amie, too, began to watch, transfixed as the figure on horseback became clearer. The rider was slim, dressed in dark clothing, and the horse was ghostly pale.

And then she saw it… the signature auburn mane like a nimbus of flame surrounding the rider’s head.

“ _Rhaine_!”

Both Bevil and Amie charged forth, plowing up turf as they dashed to meet their old and dear friend.

\------------------------------------------------------

West Harbor finally came into view, the garish tents of the High Harvest Fair visible from quite a distance. The village was alive with people, crawling with movement like a disturbed anthill.

Then she saw two people begin running towards her. One was a wisp of a woman, long blond hair tied into a ponytail, the other a rather large young man in a chain shirt.

Amie Fern and Bevil Starling.

In a matter of seconds, the threesome met each other. Angel half reared at the strangers’ abrupt approach, but Rhaine pulled the horse back down, sliding out of the saddle to embrace her childhood friends.

Bevil was the first to reach her, taking her up in a gigantic bear hug. Rhaine was astonished at how much he had grown; he must have been over six feet tall now. He had become a rather handsome young man – baby-faced, with a nicely trimmed beard and a shock of close-cropped chestnut hair. His eyes were still the same, though, bright with life and deep as the ocean.

“We’ve missed you so much, Rhaine,” he said, his voice muffled as his face was buried in her hair. “We got your letters, but it just wasn’t the same.”

“That we have,” Amie added, pulling Bevil away and hugging Rhaine fiercely herself. “Welcome back!”

Amie was still a willow-thin girl, and her hair was still the same length and style it had been when Rhaine left six years previous. But her once impish face had finally given way to stunning beauty.

“I missed you both, too,” said Rhaine, pushing Amie back by the shoulders. “And look at you! Both of you! How much you have changed.”

“How much _we’ve_ changed? What about at _you_!” Bevil replied, looking her up and down. “You’re… you’re…” a blush suddenly crept into his cheeks, “ _pretty_!”

Amie swatted Bevil on the shoulder scoldingly, but Rhaine simply laughed. She looped her arms into those of her friends, Angel’s reins in one hand, and began walking with them into the village… just like she had done so many times as a child.

She was home.

\------------------------------------------------------

“No, Orlen, they should be free of cares, at least for a day. We’ll go ‘round tomorrow… talk to the households, one by one.”

“Right you are, Georg. Tomorrow, then.”

The militia master had just finished a rather grim discussion with the farmer Orlen about sudden crop troubles when a familiar trio caught his eye.

He could scarcely believe it.

“Rhaine Alcinea. By the gods, I thought you’d never return.” He approached his former pupil with outstretched, welcoming arms and pulled her into a tight hug. “Welcome back to West Harbor, young lady.”

“Thank you, Georg,” she replied with a smile. “I’ve missed all of you so much.”

He pushed her back to take a good look at her. She certainly had grown into a stunning young woman. Her eyes glittered with a certain strength he’d never seen before, and her garb was quite impressive… a fanciful suit of silver half-plate. A doubly remarkable sword hung at her side – the kind of blade he never thought he’d see her wield. In six short years, she had metamorphosed from an awkward waif of a girl into a beautiful warrior-woman.

But inside, she was still Rhaine.

“Well,” he said finally, “you did come home in time for the Harvest Fair, so are you planning on competing?”

“I don’t know, Georg,” she started hesitantly. “I’ve been riding hard for eight days, with barely time for-”

“ _Please_ , Rhaine?”

“It’s our _last_ chance!”

“Come on, Rhaine. You know we’ll win if you’re with us!”

At that, she sighed heavily in resignation, shaking her head. “Alright, you two. I’ll compete.”

Both Amie and Bevil whooped loudly, while Georg gave a hearty laugh. He took the sign-up list from his table and penned in the threesome as a team.

“But I’m not promising anything,” Rhaine added sternly, “unless it’s knocking Wyl Mossfeld into the dirt in the Brawl. He’s still around, isn’t he?”

Georg nodded, smirking a little. “All three of the Mossfelds are still here. And I have no doubt they’ll be eager to test themselves against you.”

“They’ll regret it,” she answered simply, hand resting casually on her sword hilt.

And Georg believed it.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Alright, good as new. Now, off you go. And be more careful!” Merring shooed the young Lannon boy away after mending his broken arm and shook his head as the lad ran off. The poor thing had a desperate - even dangerous - need to prove himself… just like a certain girl who’d left them six years ago.

“I’m ready to brawl, Brother Merring,” came a strangely familiar voice.

The priest looked up from the kit he was repacking and then promptly dropped it into the mud, ruining the roll of bandages. “ _Rhaine_! You’re back! I… I thought I saw a horse by the Farlong house but I didn’t dare hope…”

Rhaine grinned widely. “You didn’t think a girl like me would come back to this crazy swamp town, did you, Merring?”

“No, I didn’t,” he answered with a sigh. “I thought for sure that your duties as a Kelemvorite would keep you away.”

“Well,” she replied, “I didn’t come back just for the Fair. My church sent me back. Although, what they told me was rather cryptic. I haven’t the faintest idea of what I am to do,” she added with a frown.

Merring chuckled lightly. “It usually happens that way, yes. Perhaps the answer will come with time.” He waved a hand as if to clear the air, “But enough of all that. We can catch up at the feast tonight. For now, I’m sure you want to test your skills in the brawl.”

“That’s right,” Bevil piped up eagerly. “And we’re planning on winning, too.”

“Unfortunately, the gods have granted few competitors this year,” Merring said, gesturing to the three men who were leaning nonchalantly against the fence of the fighting ring. “The Mossfelds are the only ones who remain. They’ve defeated every challenger thus far.”

“Great,” Amie remarked dryly.

“To fight them, you’ll have to formally challenge them. And you must either brawl with fists or practice clubs.” The priest indicated a rack of sparring weapons. “No ‘real’ weapons allowed.”

“Right,” Rhaine said with confiden smile. “I’ll be back shortly.”

\------------------------------------------------------

“Competitors ready?” Merring called.

Webb, Ward, and Wyl Mossfeld stood opposite Amie, Bevil, and Rhaine. The Mossfelds all bore practice clubs, but only Bevil wielded one on Rhaine’s side. The Favored Soul planned on planting Wyl face-down in the mud with just her martial skills.

All of the villagers had gathered to see this final fight. Out of the corner of her eye, Rhaine saw Daeghun standing on the bottom rung of the fence. A faint smile flickered across his face, and he winked at her. Rhaine grinned back. Perhaps time had healed him of his anger. She certainly hoped it had.

“Begin!”

Rhaine focused on Wyl, trusting Bevil and Amie to be able to handle themselves. The eldest Mossfeld charged towards her, weapon raised high. That had always been his weakness on the practice field, and she didn’t hesitate to use this fact to her advantage.

Rhaine came in with a heavy kick to Wyl’s abdomen. He instantly lost all of his balance and went pitching forward. She then snatched the practice club and wrenched it out of his hands… but instead of turning it against him, she tossed it over the fence.

“You little-”

Rhaine followed up with a swift punch to his mouth, another to his nose, and a left hook to his jaw. She drove a knee into his groin, and he doubled over again. Taking him by the ears, she finally tossed him into the dirt and then stepped onto his back.

“Do you yield?”

“ _Oomph! Freakish tw_ -”

“I said, do you _yield_?” she asked again, pressing harder on his spine. Wyl grunted, groaned, and struggled momentarily to rise, before finally going limp.

“ _YESH!_ ”

Only when he had fully surrendered did she dare glance around. It was over. Webb was on the ground holding his crotch with a horrific expression etched on his face. Ward clutched his left elbow, and his brow was bloodied. Amie looked none the worse for wear, although she was massaging her slender hands. Bevil had a slight limp and mud smeared across his cheeks, but was grinning from ear to ear.

“And we have our winners!” Merring proclaimed.

The crowd cheered and applauded heartily - with some even chanting their names.

Including Daeghun.

\------------------------------------------------------

With the help of a last-minute addition to their team - the agile boy rogue, Kipp – Rhaine and her friends not only won the Harvest Brawl, but the Knave’s Challenge, the Archery Competition, and the Tourney of Talent. Snaring all four events landed them the Harvest Cup. It was a wonderful way to end their last year of competition.

After the awards ceremony, the patrons from other nearby villages departed, eager to get home before nightfall. But the party had just started for the Harbormen, who always laid out a grand feast at the end of the day. It was at this feast that Rhaine caught up with everyone in the village. But most of the time was spent telling about her experiences in Waterdeep. They all listened with rapt attention, as if it were miraculous that she had returned to them after so many years. Even Daeghun expressed interest, seemingly impressed with her newfound knowledge and purpose – a welcome change from his usual bullheaded stubbornness regarding religion.

When all the food had finally been devoured and everyone had their fill of Harvest mead, the townsfolk dispersed to their homes, most all with smiles on their faces. As Rhaine left with her foster father to the Farlong house, reclaiming her old room upstairs, a strange sense of peace fell over her. With her stomach full of delicious fare, a glittering trophy on her wall, and her heart full, she almost forgot the reason for her homecoming.

Almost.


	5. Decoy

“ _Rhaine_! We’re under attack! West Harbor is under attack!”

The Doomguide shot straight up in bed upon hearing Bevil’s panicked voice coming from the stairwell. An _attack? What!?_ She barely had time to pull her blanket up to cover herself when he burst into her room, wildly brandishing a longsword.

“Grab a weapon, we need to defend the village!” he panted breathlessly, leaning on her dresser for support.

“We’d better hurry.” Amie’s tone was one of worry as she shoved herself into the room, too, and secured the door behind her. “I saw some of them behind us on the way here. They’re likely to hit this house next.”

Without a word, Rhaine sprang out of bed, jumping to her footlocker to retrieve her armor and weapon. At that, Bevil suddenly whirled around in an attempt to give her privacy.

“Oh for the gods’ sake, Bevil, I have smallclothes on!” Rhaine hissed in exasperation. “Help me get into this armor! Now’s not the time to act a gentleman!”

Amie then assisted with the lower half of her harness while Bevil helped Rhaine fasten the backplate to her breastplate. In a matter of minutes, she was fully armored and had her sword belted to her waist. She drew the weapon, blade ringing out of its sheath, and immediately led her friends back downstairs.

And then, a moment of panic arrested her, making her pause. This would be the first time she would use a weapon in real combat… and the first time to use her spells outside the Temple. To the Nine Hells with all of the exams and trials in Waterdeep; this was a _real_ test.

Her thoughts were interrupted, however, when three Duergar – Deep Dwarves – bashed the front door to splinters and kept coming, shouting curses in their guttural tongue.

Suddenly, as if someone else had taken control of her body, the words to a blessing flowed from her lips like water. A golden light washed outwards from her, enveloping her companions in a warm, tingling glow. All in the room stood open-mouthed for a moment… just long enough for her to strike with the swiftness of a serpent. With a quick thrust, she plunged her blade into the heart of one of the Duergar, the razor edge slicing through leather and flesh with frightening ease.

That snapped her friends out of their momentary daze. Bevil charged forth with a cry, engaging another dark dwarf while Amie summoned a magical wolf to tear the throat out of the other.

When the invaders were finally dispatched, their blood pooling on the hardwood, Rhaine glanced around, eyes wide with concern. “Where’s Daeghun?”

“I dunno,” Bevil answered with a shrug, shaking his head. “I didn’t see him outside.”

“Let’s hope he’s getting help,” Amie added. “I don’t think he’s dead – he’s too wily.”

 _I hope not_ , Rhaine thought grimly. Despite their differences, she would never wish her foster father any ill will. It concerned her greatly that the elven ranger was nowhere to be found. Like Amie, she prayed he was coming with assistance.

Outside, the village was in utter chaos. Houses had gone up in flames. Brother Merring was desperately trying to drag wounded villagers out of harm’s way. Georg was attempting to rally the militia, but such an endeavor was nigh impossible as fear permeated the air. He was embroiled in combat on the West Harbor Bridge, only a few of the militiamen at his side. Duergar and small, extraplanar beings Rhaine knew as Bladelings had him almost completely surrounded.

The threesome dashed to his aid, making short work of the small raiders. The Duergar were boringly predictable in their brutish combat patterns, but the Bladelings were deadly quick with their shortswords, hissing and spitting in an exotic language. They were like some demonic version of a halfling – waist high, with purple-grey hide, feather-like scarlet topknots, and yellowed, horselike teeth. No doubt to the common folk they were something out of a nightmare.

After rescuing Georg at last, Rhaine’s orders were clear. She was to round up any remaining militiamen and direct them to the wheat field for a final stand. Things were actually going rather well until they came upon Tarmas, who had been locked in a fierce arcane duel with a strange, otherworldly mage. Tarmas saw them out of the corner of his eye and warned them to stay back. But Amie, desperately trying to save her beloved master, unleashed her own impressive magic upon the foe…

… with absolutely no effect.

The mage’s retaliation was brutal. A blazing fireball spiraled from his staff faster than the inexperienced girl could react…

And Amie Fern was dead before she hit the ground.

\------------------------------------------------------

“ _Amie_!”

Bevil charged forward with a howl of rage, attempting to cut the mage down where he stood, but the foe vanished the moment the warrior reached him, leaving three giant spiders in his wake.

An unbridled fury consumed Rhaine. As she and Bevil slew the spiders and then aided the militia in routing the invaders, she barely registered what she was doing; Rhaine felt a surge of energy flowing through her veins, burning white-hot, nearly blinding her with its strength. She cast another blessing, showering divine power upon the militiamen as another wave of Duergar and Bladelings emerged from the swamps. Enemy after enemy fell to _Touch of Death_ , the blade whistling as it sliced through the air, her sword arm seemingly controlled by someone else… someone far more powerful than she thought she would ever be.

And then Daeghun suddenly appeared at the edge of the woods with his ranger allies behind him, sharp eyes focused on their enemies and slaying a foe with every rapid shot. An expression of hard determination had writ itself on his face, his mouth set in a thin line and his deer-like eyes flashing with an inner fury.

With their aid, almost as quickly as it had begun, it was over at last.

\------------------------------------------------------

Daeghun, Merring, and Rhaine knelt amongst the wounded and the dead. As Rhaine felt the adrenaline of battle drain from her limbs, a sudden sorrow for Amie overtook her, consuming all other thoughts. She bowed her head, her shoulders hitching with silent sobs, and Bevil took her into his arms for a moment, rocking her gently as she cried over the senseless death of their childhood friend.

Georg looked on with a grim expression, some of the other villagers with him, including Orlen and Rhetta.

“How many did we lose?” he asked, finally.

Merring’s voice was quiet. “Ian, Vera, Pearson, Lewy, Pitney, and Amie.”

“What were those things? Never seen anything quite like them,” Georg inquired further, a note of disbelief in his tone.

“They’re called Bladelings,” Merring supplied. “Their kind is not native to our realm. They dwell in a place beyond.”

“And Duergar,” Rhaine added, pushing away from Bevil and wiping her eyes, forcing herself to think. “The Deep Dwarves of the Underdark. They’re often used as mercenaries by planar peoples.”

“Well,” Georg’s tone turned angry, “what in the Nine Hells were ‘planar peoples’ doing _here_ of all places?”

“I overheard one of the dwarves say they were searching for something,” Rhaine replied. “An object of silver. They were thralls of a more powerful entity, fetching at the order of their master.”

“‘Silver’?” Rhetta repeated questioningly, glancing between them all. “But… we have no silver here. Unless, of course, they wanted our candlesticks – but I highly doubt that was the case.”

Daeghun abruptly moved from his kneeling position and began walking away from the rest of the group. “Rhaine, come with me.”

The half-elf’s brow furrowed deeply. He knew something. She knew in her gut he did. Thus, she followed closely, curious as to what he would say. And also more than a little suspicious…

“There is something you must do, Rhaine. Tonight,” he explained, once they were out of earshot of the others.

“What?”

“Those Bladelings were here to find something, as you say,” he continued in a hushed tone, “and I fear I know what. The stones outside of town are deeper than you might think. Inside these ruins is a strongbox… within, a shard of silver. Find it and bring it back.”

Holding up a hand, she shook her head as if to clear it. “ _Excuse me_? You want me to go looking for a chunk of metal in the middle of the swamp, _now_ , when there are dead and wounded to take care of? Why? Why is that more important than tending to…?”

His face bore an irritated expression, and he rolled his eyes. “Your _duties_ can wait until after you’ve fetched that shard. We can speak more then. Until that time, retrieving it is more important than anything else, of that I assure you.”

She opened her mouth to speak again, but he interjected before she could get a word out, “There is no time to explain, Rhaine. You must bring back that shard _tonight_. Bevil!”

Her friend was still crouched over the corpse of Amie, speaking softly and stroking the girl’s hair. His cheeks were tear-stained, and the expression he bore was heartbreaking as he glanced up at Daeghun. The young man’s movements were sluggish as he came to stand by Rhaine.

“I want you to accompany my daughter to the ruins in the Mere,” Daeghun said simply.

“But, Georg says they’re overrun by lizardling tribes-”

“And that is why you must go!” the elf insisted, physically turning them and pushing them down the path towards the swamp. “Two swords may prevail where one might fall. Find the shard. Find it and bring it here. We have nothing more to say to each other until you do.”

The elf then turned away from them before either of the friends could protest any more.

\------------------------------------------------------

They walked in silence for a long time, until the fires of the village were far out of sight. Then, when the ruins they were looking for finally came into view in the distance, Bevil spoke at last, his voice cracking with emotion.

“This is all a bit too much for me. Amie’s dead. The village is in flames. And now we’re out in the middle of the swamp, at night, looking for a stupid piece of metal. Because…?”

Rhaine sighed heavily, warily glancing about at the quiet marsh surrounding them. “It must be important, or Daeghun wouldn’t have insisted that we do this now.”

“It better be.”

When they finally reached the ruins proper, they were forced to battle lizardlings both without and within. The primitive creatures had taken the place over as some sort of shrine to their non-existent “gods.” In the very back of this dark and dank ruin, housed inside an ancient, rotting chest, was a very small chunk of jagged silver – brightly polished, but quite unassuming. It throbbed slightly, as if enchanted, but Rhaine couldn’t discern what magics lay within it.

“We came all the way here for _that_?! None of this makes any sense!” Bevil exclaimed, his voice echoing on the walls. He threw his hands upwards out of sheer frustration, his face turning cherry red with rage.

Angrily spinning on his heels, he hissed, “Daeghun can do his own blasted quests from now on. Let’s get out of here.”

\------------------------------------------------------

It was in the wee hours of the morning when they finally returned to West Harbor. By then, the bodies of the dead had been lined up for burial, wrapped in makeshift shrouds. Most of the villagers whose homes were still standing had returned to them. Only a few people remained outside, mourning the dead or aimlessly milling about, unable to do anything else. Daeghun they found standing alone beneath a weeping willow tree, his arms folded across his chest as he seemed lost in thought. He looked up, however, upon hearing the ground disturbed beneath Rhaine and Bevil’s feet.

“You have returned. And you have brought the shard,” he remarked, seeing the glimmering piece of silver in his foster daughter’s hand.

“ _That’s_ all you have to say? I nearly _died_ out there!” Bevil shouted, evidently not caring who could overhear.

“If I didn’t think you could handle the task, Bevil, I would have sent another,” Daeghun answered coolly, unaffected by the young man’s rage.

“Yeah, well, _you_ weren’t out there in the middle of the swamp getting attacked by lizardlings!”

“No. I was here attending the wounded. Now find Merring and do the same.”

At that, Bevil stormed away from them, raking his hands through his hair as he hissed to Rhaine, “ _Gods_ , I don’t see how you put up with him!”

Daeghun ignored Bevil entirely, returning his attention to her. “Now, for the shard – let me see it.”

Rhaine wordlessly surrendered the sliver of metal to him, pressing her lips together as she tried not to let her foster father’s behavior get to her. The elf turned it over and over in his hands, gazing at it silently. Then, he ran his fingers over it, closing his eyes momentarily as if remembering something.

“What is it?” she asked at length.

He handed the piece of metal back to her. “This shard is one of a pair, found after the battle that destroyed West Harbor when you were but a babe. My half-brother Duncan and I asked a mage in Neverwinter to examine them, but he found nothing but the faint residue of that terrible conflict. So, I kept one, and gave the other to Duncan. After I came back here, I sealed it away in the ruins.”

“Wait,” Rhaine interjected, blinking slightly in astonishment. “You’re saying I have an uncle? And you never told me until _now_?”

“It would be better to say that _I_ have a half-brother,” Daeghun replied flatly. “Duncan, like Bevil, has many faults that make it unwise to rely on him or call him kin.”

Rhaine’s brow furrowed deeply. “Watch how you speak about Bevil… _he_ was the one who helped me retrieve this piece of silver, _remember_?”

“Very well,” Daeghun answered with a dismissive sigh. “Let us discuss your friend no further.”

At that moment, the shard vibrated softly in her hands, causing her to jump slightly in surprise. She glanced down at the shimmering sliver, peering at it, but the only things she saw in its reflection were her own emerald eyes staring back at her.

“I feel magic in this thing,” she said quietly, frowning. “And it is no small magic, either.”

“Strange,” Daeghun murmured, his brow furrowing in obvious concern at her words. “Perhaps this attack awakened it. In any case, a further look at it wouldn’t be amiss.”

“Why did you hide it, then?”

He sighed heavily again. “I couldn’t bear to keep it close, and yet I could not bring myself to cast it away, either. You were too young to remember what happened during the battle, but the shard reminds me too much of that awful night.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“There are many things I have chosen not to tell you because they are not relevant.” The elf’s response was clipped, having evidently struck a nerve.

“Relevant? Anything and everything you know about that shard is relevant, especially when _I_ am the one forced to deal with it - which I have yet to understand the reasoning behind.”

“Perhaps, if you were to heed my words and question less, there wouldn’t be anything for you to understand.”

“ _Perhaps_ , if I were to beat the living Hells out of you that would settle things right now! This is _your_ shard and _your_ problem! Why don’t _you_ handle it?!” Rhaine snapped, eyes flashing fury. Overwhelming grief, exhaustion, and anger were all settling heavily on her shoulders, and she had little patience for her foster father’s ambiguous – and irritating – ways.

“I…” Daeghun began, but a sudden look of resignation came over him, and he shook his head. “I did not mean what I said, the way I said it. And now is not the time for us to fight.

“The ways of ‘civilized’ men are uncomfortable and alien to me… you are much better equipped to handle this than I. As such, I need _you_ to go to the city of Neverwinter for me. Duncan owns an inn called the Sunken Flagon in the Docks District. Get the second shard from him and take them to a mage you both can trust,” he continued. “To get to the city, follow the road to the port town of Highcliff. Once there, look for a ship named the _Double Eagle_. I know the Captain, and he will provide you passage to Neverwinter harbor.

“In an attempt to keep both you and the townsfolk safe, I’ve let slip a rumor that you’re travelling to Neverwinter by way of the High Road. Instead, you will head to Highcliff and go by water, which will be both safer and faster. In short, you’re to be a decoy, Rhaine,” he finished.

“Daeghun, I haven’t even been home for a _day_!” Rhaine exclaimed. “And now you’re sending me off to Neverwinter, after barely a wink of sleep? I can’t keep-”

“Every moment you remain in the village with the shard brings greater risk to us all! You must leave _now_ , despite your fatigue,” Daeghun insisted.

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes hard, before she finally spoke, “Fine. I’ll leave. But there are things that I _will_ do here, first.”

Daeghun nodded curtly. “Say your farewells. Your boots may travel many roads before you return to us.”

At that, Rhaine turned away abruptly, marching towards the Farlong home with purpose and anger in her strides.

 _If I return at all_.

\------------------------------------------------------

Her pack once again filled with her meager belongings, Rhaine secured the bag behind Angel’s cantle. She was glad to see that her beloved steed had survived the attack, and she murmured soft words to the mare as she tightened the girth and adjusted the stirrups. Angel regarded her with calm, warm eyes, reminding her so much of Dunstan.

“Alright, girl. I’ll be back soon,” Rhaine said finally. “I have to tend to the dead.”

She found Merring standing with the bodies of the slain villagers. Georg, Bevil, and the other militiamen had just finished digging graves for them. The priest of Lathander glanced up as Rhaine approached, fatigue evident in his poor posture and dim eyes.

“I thought you might want to issue Last Rites,” Merring said wearily as she neared, clapping a heavy hand to her shoulder. “Such ceremony is best done by a Doomguide, when one is available.”

Rhaine nodded solemnly. Bowing her head, she stood still for a long moment before finally speaking, reciting the same Passing that she had delivered for Father Gerard just a tenday earlier. As she finished, she approached the body of Amie, kneeling in silence next to her fallen friend. Rhaine felt a small pang as she saw the girl’s still face, now ashen in death. How ironic that the priestess sworn to comfort the bereaved was the one in need of comfort herself.

Her grief had passed for the most part, however. Her training as a Doomguide had conditioned her to shrug off the effects of loss. She hadn’t realized just how difficult a task it would be, though, until death struck so close to home. There was a strange numbness now as she focused her thoughts. She reminded herself that the bodies she now gazed upon were mere mortal husks. The spirits of her friend and fellow villagers had long departed… hopefully, to a better existence. The only thing that lingered in her mind now was the question of whether or not they suffered in their final moments. And that was something she would never know.

Rhaine hesitated for a moment, and then she unclasped the symbol of Kelemvor from around her neck, fastening it again about Amie’s cold throat. She pressed the bronze symbol to the girl’s chest gently, offering another prayer to the Judge of the Damned.

_Lord Kelemvor, hear my plea. I pray that you judge this girl worthy to enter the halls of Mystra, Mother of Magic. For if there was anything she loved more than life itself, it was the mysteries of the Weave._

The amulet flared briefly, faintly, almost as if in answer. Rhaine smiled gently and rose at last, sighing heavily as she did so.

“Bury them.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Georg watched as Rhaine’s scarlet mane flew behind her, her ghostly horse carrying her speedily northward to Neverwinter, as her foster father had requested. The light of the dawn streamed through the thick treetops, brushing the fresh graves with a soft light – the graves that she had blessed only moments before. The militia leader rested his hand on Bevil’s shoulder, the Starling boy gazing after his friend with a sad longing in his eyes.

“Don’t worry about her, Bevil,” Georg said gently. “People like Rhaine… they’re made for this sort of stuff. And she’s got more than luck on her side. I can tell you that.”

“I know,” Bevil replied quietly. “She’s better than any of us will ever be. She’s too good for West Harbor. And if I were her, I would never come back.”


	6. Complications

Rhaine drummed her fingers on the table as she waited.

The bartender, a chunky man named Sal, had gone to fetch Duncan. While she waited for him to return with her uncle, she looked around the tavern: the Sunken Flagon. She’d certainly seen worse. It was a rather large establishment, if a little ill-kempt, but it seemed cozy enough.

Her newfound companions took their seats nearby. Kelemvor had seen fit to grant her company on her journey, and she was glad for it. The two-week long trip to Neverwinter would have been much lonelier – and far deadlier – had it not been for them. They were all now in a bizarre circle of debt to each other for their survival.

First, there was Khelgar Ironfist, a stocky dwarf whose love of battle was incredibly unsettling. She had met him at the Weeping Willow Inn, not far north of West Harbor. He was headed to Neverwinter, like she, but for a far different reason. Apparently, his unquenchable passion for fighting had backfired on him, causing his rousing defeat at the hands of three Tyrran monks during a tavern brawl. But instead of knocking sense into him, it had just made him want to fight even more… specifically hand-to-hand style, as the monks had done. His grand idea was to join the Church of Tyr for the sole purpose of learning such a technique. Rhaine feared he would be very disappointed - or worse, turned away as soon as he set foot in the door. Somehow, the dwarf had to learn that fighting solely for a fight’s sake was not the end all and be all of life. Battle - true battle - should have an honorable purpose behind it.

Then, there was Neeshka, a tiefling thief whom Rhaine and Khelgar had rescued at Fort Locke, a little farther north along the road from the Weeping Willow. Her wild, copper-colored hair reflected her personality, just as her long, sinewy tail and pair of delicate horns revealed her demonic heritage. The rogue had decided to tag along with Rhaine as payback for saving her from a few soldiers. Since Neeshka hailed from Neverwinter, Rhaine hoped she would prove to be a valuable guide in the city.

Finally, there was the elven druidess, Elanee. She, like Daeghun, was a wood elf, and once a member of the Circle of the Mere: the druids who tended to the deadly swamps around West Harbor. She had come to Rhaine’s aid when another Bladeling and his entourage of Duergar mounted a third attack on the Doomguide – the second having been at the Weeping Willow with Khelgar. It was after this rescue that Elanee revealed she had been following Rhaine ever since the Doomguide had left her village… with the intention of finding out just why these extraplanar creatures were pursuing her.

There was one more patron in the tavern, too – a scruffy-looking man of his late twenties or early thirties. He was halfway through emptying a bottle of wine, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. He must have felt Rhaine’s gaze upon him, however, because he looked up after a moment, and their eyes met, green to brown. He wasted no time in offering her a very rude hand gesture.

If looks could kill, the man should have dropped dead in an instant. Rhaine raised one eyebrow and stared daggers through him. Yet he simply ignored her, draining his goblet for the third time and slamming it on his table, as if to make some sort of a statement.

“Well now, what can I do for you?” came a sudden cheery voice, distracting Rhaine from the drinking man. “Bit of venom for the belly, perhaps? Or maybe a tankard or two to shave the edge off your day?”

She glanced up. There, looking at her with Daeghun’s eyes, was Duncan Farlong. He wore a ragged tunic, breeches, and a heavily stained beige apron. His face bore a half-grown beard, and his russet hair was shaggy and unkempt. The oddly-shaped ears signaled he was a half-elf like she.

“I’m looking for my Uncle Duncan,” the priestess replied, standing as she did so. “I’m assuming you are he?”

“ _Uncle_ Duncan, eh?” he asked, seemingly surprised at her method of addressing him. “That sounds _a bit_ familiar, but… wait,” he paused, looking her over. His gaze settled on her eyes, and a look of realization flickered across his countenance. “You’re Rhaine, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you since you were a wee tiny thing. What are you doing all the way up here?”

“Daeghun sent me,” she answered simply, her lips pressing together.

“Daeghun, eh?” He looked off for a moment before continuing, face hardening somewhat at the mention of his brother’s name. “So the time’s come has it? Troubles chasin’ on your heels, and you barely know why.” The truth of his words struck her, and she felt more than a little unsettled by his response. “Suppose Daeghun told you half of what you needed to know, and then sent you packin’. Don’t take it too hard. Done it to me twice in my life… all for a good reason.

“I think I know why you’re here,” he added with a resigned sigh, gesturing to her generically with one hand, “but why don’t you go ahead and tell me anyway?”

At that, she took a breath, producing the shard from her pack and proferring it to him. “Daeghun thought you might know more about _this_.”

“Did he, now?” Duncan took the shard carefully, slowly turning it over in his hands just like her foster father had done. Finally, though, he handed it back to her, shaking his head. “Nothing more than I did all those years ago. Plain silver, near as we could tell. You and those shards were all that was left of that West Harbor battle.”

Sal looked up from cleaning the bar. “Duncan, I thought you said that shard was magic?”

“ _Trace_ of an enchantment is what that eel Sand said,” Duncan replied, sparing a glance back at the bartender. “Probably residue of demon’s fire or wizard magic,” he added, turning back to her. “Anyway, it was _Sand_ , and he’s a fool. It’s barely worth mentioning. There’s more sentimental value to that thing than anything else. Is that _really_ why you came all this way?” he added, one brow raised. “To hear about your mother?”

Rhaine was taken aback by his words. “What? My _mother_?”

“Yeah, your mother, Esmerelle. Since you were asking about the shards, of course,” he said quietly. When Rhaine’s mouth dropped open in obvious surprise, his eyes widened again. “What, Daeghun still keeping that bottled up inside? It’s a wonder he doesn’t burst at the seams! But,” he continued with another sigh, “I’ve no call to say anything like that. Probably why he buried the first shard and gave the other to me…”

“Wait,” Rhaine interjected, lifting a hand to stop him. “How are these chunks of silver related to my mother?”

“I think you’d been better off raised by wolves if Daeghun didn’t share that with you,” Duncan replied sadly. “There’s a lot he’s probably never told you. But listen, it’s _his_ place to tell you, not mine. He’ll talk when he’s ready, and it is best that you hear it from him. For now, let’s stick to these,” he said, gesturing at the shard.

Rhaine reluctantly nodded and looked down at the sliver of metal in her hand, her thoughts awhirl with what Duncan had just told her, and mostly curiosity about her mother. Daeghun barely said a word about her parents in the nearly fifteen years she had lived with him, and it was only _now_ that she had learned her own mother’s name: _Esmerelle_.

“So,” she finally continued, shaking her head to clear it. “Who’s this ‘Sand’ fellow?”

“A hedge wizard,” Duncan explained. “Has a shop here in the Docks. He’s got a dry wit and will always rub you the wrong way, so his name is well-chosen. Daeghun and I took another shard to him years ago, but he couldn’t get anything from it, just faint traces.”

“Hmm. Can I see yours?”

Without hesitation, he pulled it from his pocket and proffered it to her. “Here. Always kept it close for some reason. Didn’t want to leave it out of my sight.”

Rhaine took it, now with one shard in each hand. They were both of the same material, both with the same lustrous quality and almost the same weight. The slivers were definitely parts of the same larger whole, though how large wasn’t determinable as of yet. Whatever the original item was, it had to be flat and thin, as there was no curvature to the pieces whatsoever.

“It’s got power,” Rhaine remarked, almost reverently, the throbbing sensation now coming from both shards of metal. “I can _feel_ it. It may not have then, but it certainly does now. Perhaps Sand can get a better reading with yours and mine together.”

“Well,” Duncan began, “I don’t see any harm in it. Just don’t pay him any coin in advance, that’s all I’ll say. In fact, that viper would be best off-”

“Ah, it seems I have arrived just in time to deflect the usual barrage of slander from the local innkeeper.”

Rhaine and Duncan both glanced towards the door at the sound of another voice. Into the tavern swept a short slip of an elf, his burgundy wizard robes swirling about his ankles as he closed the door behind him and bowed to them with a flourish. His pale, sharp face bore a mischievous grin upon it, equally sharp ears emerging from beneath his shoulder-length black hair.

“ _Sand_ ,” Duncan growled.

“Yes, it’s good to see you still recognize me past the,” he paused and inhaled deeply, “stale beer, faint sweat, failed aspirations,” he sniffed twice, “ _unwashed tunic_? I thought perhaps you had already had one tankard too many for the day, but…”

His pale blue eyes then fastened on Rhaine, glittering somewhat as he beheld her. “Why, your guest has the smell of a Harborwoman about her,” he sniffed again, and then winked at her as she opened her mouth in objection, “ _faint_. But there.”

Before she could react, Sand boldly looped his arm through Rhaine’s and patted her hand. “I _thought_ Duncan was keeping company too good for him. Now I see _I was right_. Duncan, you could learn a few things from your guest, here.”

“Hmph! Still selling two-copper fair weather charms to the locals, Sand?” Duncan retorted dryly.

Sand’s brow knitted. “You have no appreciation for my talents, and after all I’ve done for you! To think you would last a fortnight without my ale purgative… why, you would be buried in the tombs with the rest of the Neverwinter traitors – a betrayer of barkeepers _everywhere_.

“But enough about you and your _adventurous_ exploits on the tavern floor. I heard my name mentioned _almost_ in a way that suggested I could help…?”

Duncan rolled his eyes and indicated Rhaine. “This here’s kin.”

Sand looked her up and down skeptically. “I’m not really seeing the family resemblance.”

“And we need your help looking at the shards again.”

“Shard?” Sand repeated, unhooking his arm from Rhaine and crossing his arms. “You mean that chunk of silver you showed me so long ago? I do hope you don’t intend on trying to pawn it to me again - I’m no longer interested. Besides, I thought you said the piece of _junk_ had sentimental value. And didn’t your uncle, or cousin, or brother or whatever make off with the other? I thought you only had one.”

“It made its way back, so to speak,” Duncan explained. “We need you to look at both of them again. _Properly_ , this time.”

“ _Well_ ,” Sand replied, holding out his hands expectantly, “give them here and let’s see what my keen arcane senses can determine.”

Rhaine carefully placed both shards in the palms of his hands, watching as the elf closed his eyes and began muttering an incantation. She could tell it was a divination spell of some sort, but the specific cantrip eluded her.

Suddenly, the shards emitted an earsplitting _bang_ , discharging a force of magic strong enough to send all three of them flying across the room. Rhaine went sailing over two tables, nearly landing in the fireplace. Duncan was tossed backwards over the bar. Sand was propelled all the way to the front door and plastered against the wood with a grunt.

Khelgar and Neeshka both howled with laughter, but Elanee admonished them. “Stop that! Both of you! They could have been seriously hurt!”

As they scrambled back to their feet, they looked one to the other with shocked and confused expressions on each of their faces. Rhaine collected the pieces cautiously, afraid they would react again. Sand brushed himself off, his lip curled in distaste.

“Well, it certainly has some _resentment_ to being scryed,” he said at last, rubbing at the back of his head. “That is quite different than last time. Are you sure these are the same shards?” Sand shook his head at them, disbelief in his tone. “The power in them is much stronger than before-”

“Oh, so _now_ they’re magical?” Duncan growled fiercely. “I’m not paying you for _two_ failed divinations, you charlatan!”

“It’s not a matter of _divination_ , you one-tankard drunk!” Sand hissed. “Without knowing the history of these shards even _I_ can’t unlock their mysteries!”

At that, Rhaine’s temper flared, and she took both of the men roughly by the shoulders. “Look, would you two _please_ stop arguing and focus! These things are obviously more important than your petty squabbling!”

Duncan sighed heavily. “You’re right. I’m sorry I pointed out the fact that you’re a charlatan, Sand.”

Sand’s eyes rolled skyward. “And I didn’t mean to bring up your excessive drinking, Duncan. It was uncalled for, especially when we have such a mystery before us.”

The mage then turned to Rhaine. “Taking these to any other wizard around these parts would be useless without knowing their history… you need a sage.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So, who would know more about them?”

“You _could_ try speaking with Aldanon, but you won’t have much luck reaching him right now,” the wizard replied. “Blacklake District is shut down. Strangely enough, he lives there but is now is trapped there along with all the other Neverwintan nobles. The Watch has it locked tight, with no one going in or out and no correspondence in or out. There’s a murder investigation going on, and they’ve called in the Cloaktower mages… which means sorcery, demons, or both were at work there.”

“Demons?” Duncan asked incredulously. “The closest I came to those were Daeghun’s tales about the battles down at West Harbor, where there was all that trouble with the King of Shadows.”

“The King of Shadows? What , or who, is that?” Rhaine inquired, as she had never heard the epithet before – which was odd, considering her church had collected much lore on demonic and planar entities.

“Some sorcerer, I believe,” Sand supplied. “Had a bunch of demons at his beck and call. Not much left about that time in Neverwinter history, strangely enough.”

“But this Aldanon,” Duncan added, redirecting the conversation. “You think he may know more about these shards?”

“Well,” Sand shrugged and sighed, “if you’re not a member of the Watch or know a secret route into Blacklake, you’re out of luck.”

“Hmm,” Duncan looked askance at Rhaine. “The Watch seems right up your alley, although there are few women of faith in the ranks. Marshal Cormick at the City Watch post here in the Docks is in bad need of some extra hands, though, so I doubt he’ll be picky. He’s a Harborman, like you. You might even remember him.”

“Yes,” she said quietly, vaguely remembering Cormick’s face from her childhood. “I recall seeing him a time or two. He left West Harbor when I was very young, I think.”

“He might be able to take you in,” Duncan continued, “and then you shouldn’t have too hard a time getting to Aldanon.”

Rhaine thought about it for a moment. Joining the Watch didn’t seem like a bad idea at all… and perhaps she could do some good for the city while she was at it. “Very well. I’ll do it.”

“Great,” Neeshka grumbled. “Hope nobody I know finds out, or there goes my _sterling_ reputation…”

“You’ll find him at the Watch post by the Dolphin Bridge,” Duncan elaborated. “Take a right from here, then follow the road straight ahead.”

Rhaine nodded, pulling her map, quill, and inkwell from her pack and checking the route. She circled the watch post, the Sunken Flagon, and Aldanon’s mansion in the Blacklake District for future reference. Duncan also pointed out Sand’s shop, the local blacksmith, and the trader.

“Well,” Sand piped up after a moment. “You certainly can find your own way into trouble from here. Me, I’ll go back to my lonely merchant existence.” The elf bowed once more, turned and sauntered towards the exit. “Should you need my expertise, simply ask… but just in case, bring a great deal of gold as well.” He winked at Rhaine again before stepping outside. “Good day to you.”

As the tavern door closed behind him, Rhaine found herself grinning at the wizard’s words. Despite his biting sarcasm, he was strangely likeable…

“You’re welcome to stay here free of charge, Rhaine. So long as you’re here in Neverwinter, you’ll find a bed and food for you here,” Duncan said at length, placing his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. “And,” he added, gesturing to her companions, “any friend of yours is a friend of mine. They’re welcome to stay here as well.”

Rhaine smiled her appreciation. “Thank you for your hospitality, Uncle Duncan. It is greatly appreciated.”

Duncan waved a hand. “Anything to help, lass. And good luck with the Watch. With all the troubles that have befallen the Docks lately, you’ll need it.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine kept to herself for the rest of the evening, mulling over the events of the past fortnight. As her thoughts went to the Duergar and Bladelings who had been following her, she remembered the curse they had shouted… or what she had thought was a curse.

_Kalach-cha._

Neeshka had confirmed her suspicions that the phrase or word was planar in origin, although it was certainly not from the Hells or the Abyss. Elanee seemed to think it was more of a name, or even a title, though the meaning escaped her as well. It was odd, this thing they kept calling her… and they spat it at her as if it were something distasteful, disgusting, or even evil. She remembered one Bladeling claiming Rhaine had _stolen_ the shards…

And then she recalled what Duncan had told her - that the shards had been found after the battle of West Harbor. What happened there? Why would an object of magical silver have been shattered there? What was it that shattered it? And moreover, how were she and her mother tied to them? Rhaine hoped that, once she reached Aldanon, these questions would be resolved. But it seemed that investigating the shards was going to be anything but easy, and the longer she kept them in her possession, the more complicated things were becoming. Still, the fact that her home village had been attacked over them, and she had been confronted twice more by creatures looking for them, suggested they were of great importance. Whether they were good or evil, she _needed_ to know their origin. And if she had to inconvenience herself by joining up with the Neverwinter City Watch, then so be it.


	7. Sword Stalkers

Greycloak Lieutenant Rhaine Alcinea stumbled into the Sunken Flagon with two more companions at her heels, her namesake cloak tattered from countless battles over the past two months. Her service to Neverwinter had soon transcended mere patrols and arrests of hooligans in the city; it had taken her all the way to Old Owl Well, in the mountains far to the southeast, to secure Neverwinter’s trade route to Waterdeep. Her activity in the area had culminated with her rescue of a Waterdhavian emissary and the utter elimination of the harassing orc tribes from the region. Thus, Neverwinter reinforced vital trade relations with the City of Splendors, and the beleaguered residents of Old Owl Well were granted a lasting reprieve from orc attacks.

As she wearily sat down at an empty table, the newest employee of Duncan’s sneered at her. Qara, once a sorceress of the Academy of Neverwinter, was now cleaning the tavern’s tables with a soiled rag, a sour expression on her face as she contemplated ways to burn the establishment the rest of the way to the ground; after she had accidently set fire to the rafters of the inn, Duncan forced her to pay him back for the damage through hard labor. She was a wild and arrogant thing, hair as fiery as her temper, and Rhaine feared that such arrogance would be her eventual downfall. She had contemplated taking the sorceress with her on excursions from time to time, if only to direct her destructive power to something beneficial, but Rhaine was simultaneously concerned that her lack of control would only be a detriment to the party…

Her newfound companions joined Rhaine at the table moments after she seated herself. The first was Grobnar Gnomehands, an eccentric little gnomish bard whose dreams were as lofty as his blond pompadour. Regardless of his senseless babbling about some fictitious thing he called a “ _Wendersnaven_ ,” his songs bore true bardic magics, and his skills with mechanical objects were unparalleled. Rhaine had thought that his profound knowledge of lore would give her some insight into the shards or her strange new title, but he could offer nothing other than the confirmation that it seemed more name than mere word.

Then there was Casavir, a noble paladin of the god of justice, Tyr. She had met the man deep in the Sword Mountains, where she had helped him fend off two orcish ambushes. He was at least in his early forties, although his jet black hair had yet to begin turning grey. His face was hard but handsome, and he possessed striking, sky blue eyes that flickered with the fires of faith… although they also seemed to have a distant cast at times. In return for her aid in routing the orcs of the Well, he had joined her on her mission to investigate the silver shards. He watched her with a careful eye, often placing himself between her and perceived threats, both in combat and out of it. It was a seemingly subconscious action; such was the way of true paladins, she knew.

As Neeshka, Elanee, and Khelgar joined them as well, the tiefling inquired, “So, what now, Miss Watchwoman?”

“Now?” Rhaine answered, plopping her chin in her hand as she propped her elbow against the table. “Now, we get some rest. Captain Brelaina has waited three weeks for her report… she can wait a day or two longer.”

“I’ll raise a tankard to that,” Khelgar agreed. “Duncan! A round for Neverwinter’s finest!”

“Seeing as you haven’t paid for a single drink since you came here, you can get it yourself!” Duncan snapped, wagging his finger scoldingly at the dwarf.

“Ah, good!” Khelgar replied cheerily as he hopped off of his chair, not skipping a beat. “I was wonderin’ when ye’d give me free reign of the kegs!”

As Duncan muttered something about freeloaders, Casavir then leaned across the table and murmured lowly to Rhaine, “Do you see that man? Over there, by the window? He hasn’t stopped watching you since we walked in here.”

She didn’t turn her head so as not to give them away, but simply rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. He’s not worth the effort, Casavir.”

The paladin’s own eyes narrowed suspiciously. “He watches you as if you are his prey… I would not shrug him off so easily if I were you.”

At that, she smiled gently, nodding. “Thank you for your concern, Casavir. I do appreciate it. But I can handle myself, as you well know. And as long as I have all of you with me, there is little to fear from him, I think.”

Casavir gave his own small nod of acquiescence in reply, leaning back again. “Forgive me. I simply wished to voice my concern.”

It was then that Sal came over with steaming plates of food to set before them, and all of the companions immediately tucked in. They ate in silence for a long while after, before Neeshka finally spoke.

“So, you think Brelaina will let you into Blacklake, soon?” the tiefling asked, tearing into her second turkey leg with her needlelike teeth.

“I hope,” Rhaine replied, sipping at her wine. “If not, then I shall have to keep at this until she trusts me.”

“I know little about the settled peoples,” Elanee remarked, pausing as she smeared butter on her twice-baked bread, “but I feel the Captain is close to granting you what you want. All that you have done thus far has been greatly beneficial to the populace of Neverwinter – you have saved countless lives. If she doesn’t trust you by now, I do not know what more you could do.”

“I was just thinking,” Grobnar began, a jovial expression lighting up his face, “perhaps if this _Bree-layna_ person heard a song of your deeds-”

“ _No_.”

All five of the others at the table responded in unison. A moment or two of exchanging glances later, they then burst into roaring laughter… even Grobnar, the poor thing, who was too lost in his own world to realize he’d been insulted.

It was not long after they all finished their dinners that they retired to their beds at last. It had been a long two months – a time that had been much more favorable to Neverwinter than it had been advantageous to them.

Perhaps that would change.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Report, Lieutenant.”

Rhaine saluted Brelaina, who sat opposite her at a large oaken desk. Marshal Cormick stood just behind and to the side of her. Warriors in the service of the Neverwinter Nine had just stormed out of the Watch office; over what, precisely, the Doomguide hadn’t managed to catch. She had received only a curt “Lieutenant” from their leader – a woman garbed from head to toe in shining plate armor – on her way inside from her second guard mission since Old Owl Well. The first had been to flush out Luskan spies in the docks, and the second was to deal with a nest of assassins in the Merchant Quarter.

Assassins who just so happened to be those same extraplanar entities that had attacked West Harbor.

“Captain. The assassins have been dealt with, as ordered,” Rhaine answered at length. “They will no longer pose a threat.”

A rare smile spread across the Captain’s face. “Well done. I knew I could count on you, Rhaine. You have done much for the people of Neverwinter, and you have earned my complete trust. Therefore,” Brelaina picked up a small slip of parchment and extended it to the Doomguide, “you have also earned a pass into Blacklake. Show this to the gate guards, and they will let you in. You will need to have an escort, however, and you may not go anywhere other than this Aldanon’s mansion; there has been another murder, and thus I had to fight for that much. Do not abuse this privilege. I fear I have pressed the Neverwinter Nine as far as they will go in this matter.”

Rhaine took the pass, inclining her head politely. “Thank you, Captain. This is greatly appreciated.”

“No,” Brelaina replied, shaking her head, “thank _you_ for your service, on behalf of Lord Nasher and Neverwinter itself. May you find what it is that you seek in Blacklake.”

\------------------------------------------------------

The Watchman pointed to the door.

“That’s the one. Just be careful with ‘im. Ol’ coot’s gettin’ crazier every day…”

Rhaine and her companions carefully approached the signified door, upon which the priestess rapped her knuckles in rapid succession.

A few seconds passed before a muffled voice came from the other side, “Are you here with the delivery?”

“No, I’m a member of the Watch,” Rhaine replied, her voice raised a little so he could hear her clearly. “I have a few questions which I’m hoping you can answer.”

“The Watch? There’s no trouble is there?”

“No,” she answered, glancing back at the others, “no trouble at all. I just seek your knowledge about a few things.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, hold on a moment while I let down my wards, and you can come right in.”

Rhaine heard the distinct popping sound of magical force fields being dispelled before a wild-haired old man at last opened the door and motioned them all inside. He closed it quickly behind them, white robes swishing as he did so, appearing the very epitome of a stereotypical eccentric old wizard.

“Please forgive me,” Aldanon began, “I would never intentionally stand in the way of the Watch… that is, unless there was no other place to stand. And that wouldn’t happen unless there was a flood.”

Neeshka cleared her throat loudly, and then made the “loony” gesture to Khelgar while Aldanon’s back was turned. Elanee smacked the tiefling on top of the head with her spear, eliciting a yelp from the rogue. Rhaine glared at all three of them.

“Oh, you came here for a reason, yes?” Aldanon asked, facing them again and stroking his white beard thoughtfully.

“Yes, we did,” Rhaine affirmed slowly. “And it’s a rather long story…”

The Doomguide spent the next hour explaining her adventures thus far, from the attack on West Harbor all the way up to the present moment. All the while, the sage listened with rapt attention, his mouth even dropping open on occasion. When she finally finished, he was silent and still for many minutes.

“Great Tyr!” He said at length, no small amount of awe in his voice. “What a tale! Fascinating… simply fascinating! Well, it just so happens that I found a very similar shard not so long ago, with very similar properties to the ones you possess. If you’d like, I can run some tests on all of them – see what I can come up with.”

Rhaine glanced at her companions, eyebrows raised questioningly. Elanee shrugged and Casavir nodded.

“Very well,” she said finally, producing the shards and handing them to Aldanon, “here you are.”

“Excellent!” Aldanon replied excitedly. “I’ll be right back with them, don’t you worry!”

The sage then disappeared into a back room for another hour, during which time there came strange smells, the feeling of ozone, and a large amount of disconcerting banging and popping noises from within. When he finally returned, however, there was a look of triumph on his face.

“Done! With other shards for comparison, I learned… well, quite a lot.”

“What are they?” Rhaine inquired, eager for answers.

“It appears that these shards contain magical energies, either from when they were whole or from their destruction, and resonate when brought together,” Aldanon explained.

“Tell us something we don’t know,” Neeshka grumbled.

The old sage continued on without hearing her, “These shards are pieces of a githyanki silver sword. Are you familiar with the githyanki people?”

Rhaine blinked, stunned. _The githyanki_. Why hadn’t she realized it sooner? The mage who had killed Amie was a githyanki, with his signature grey-green skin pulled tightly over his skull. The githyanki were the ones who controlled the Bladelings and Duergar, as they were slaves of that Astral people. All the clues had been right there before her eyes the entire time… she just never put them all together.

“The githyanki live on the Astral plane… within and around the corpses of dead gods,” Rhaine replied. “They are a warlike people who were once human, before their enslavement by illithids – mind flayers.”

“Precisely,” Aldanon said with a nod of affirmation. “They were born of a titanic rebellion against their illithid masters, led by the heroine Gith. The silver swords of these people are forged with the special purpose of severing the silver cord of Astral travelers, an action that will instantly slay the traveler’s material counterpart. I believe these shards are pieces of such a sword, and that the githyanki have come to Faerûn to recover them.”

At that, Rhaine was puzzled. “But why would they care about a _broken_ weapon? It is useless to them, now.”

“Well,” Aldanon began, scratching his head thoughtfully, “I’ve never heard of one ever being broken before. Perhaps they are as interested in _how_ it was shattered as they are in recovering the pieces.”

Rhaine thought a moment, mulling over her experiences with the extraplanar people. “I’ve fought the githyanki before, but they did not possess swords as you describe. Why is that?”

“ _Common_ githyanki would _never_ possess a silver sword,” the wizard answered, shaking his head in slight irritation, “they are prized weapons granted by the Lich Queen to only the greatest knights of their people, and as such, are extremely precious items. When one of these swords falls into the hands of non-githyanki, they will go to extraordinary lengths to recover it.”

“Lose them often, do they?”

He nodded. “Often enough that a special group was formed to hunt for them, called the ‘Sword Stalkers.’ They seek out these lost swords and take it upon themselves to exact punishment on those who steal them.”

“By the gods,” Rhaine whispered finally, an element of astonishment in her voice as her eyes widened. Things were all falling into place, now. The Bladelings were claiming she had stolen, and maybe even broken, a githyanki sword into the shards she now possessed. And the githyanki who had attacked West Harbor must have been one of these Sword Stalkers…

“Is there anything else?” she asked quietly after a few moments, searching the old man’s face as if she could find even more answers there.

“I wish I knew more. Ammon Jerro was the real expert… he even had one of those silver swords. Ammon was once the court wizard of Neverwinter, you see, but he passed away several years back, during the war with the King of Shadows.”

“Hmm. Would his family know anything more about the swords, or perhaps have access to some of his research?” Rhaine inquired.

He shook his head again. “As far as I know, the Jerro family moved away from Neverwinter, and I have no idea where they are now. But any information remaining about the subject would surely be with them or in Ammon’s Haven.”

“Ammon had a ‘Haven’? Where is it?”

“I do not know,” the sage replied with a shrug. “But perhaps you could find out at the Neverwinter Archives, here in Blacklake. They keep such records on noble families, although not just anyone could access such information. Normally, you would have to petition, and that could take weeks. But I have an idea: ask the guards to let you speak directly to the Archives Administrator. He should let you in, if you tell him I sent you.”

Rhaine nodded realizing what her next step must be. “Very well. Thank you so much for your time, Aldanon. You have provided us with a considerable amount of useful information. I shall take my leave, now, and leave you in peace.”

“Of course, of course!” he said, giving the shards back to her in a velvet pouch. “Any time. And here, take my shard as well. I have no need for it, and you never know when _you_ might.”

She smiled. “Thank you again, Aldanon, and farewell.”

\------------------------------------------------------

“Interesting… there is another Jerro. Zeeaire will want her. I shall take care of this descendant. You stay here and burn all mention of the thief.”

Suddenly, a scarlet-haired woman burst into the locked archives room, her green eyes ablaze with fury. He had met this one before - in that swamp village, after he had slain the mage whelp.

“The _Kalach-cha_! Kill her!” the githyanki commanded his followers, before vanishing in a shower of magical sparks.

\------------------------------------------------------

The floor of the Neverwinter Archives ran red with the blood of the slain archivists and the githyanki invaders. Countless leafs of shredded papers littered the floor as well, making a parchment ring around a podium in the center of the room.

“I can’t believe those githyanki killed everyone,” Grobnar said breathlessly, re-slinging his shortbow across his shoulders. His voice resonated throughout the empty archives building, the stones echoing his shock at the scene before them.

“We should look through these records. I have a feeling that the githyanki were looking for the same thing we are,” Casavir stated, kneeling to examine some of the fallen parchment more closely.

Rhaine wordlessly nodded, sheathing _Touch of Death_. “Come on… let’s search for anything that mentions the Jerros.”

It was only after a few moments of leafing through a book on the podium that she found it… the last living descendant of Ammon Jerro.

“Shandra?” Neeshka asked in disbelief as she peered over Rhaine’s shoulder. “The Highcliff farm girl with the flammable barn?”

Rhaine remembered Shandra well; she lived alone on a farm on the outskirts of Highcliff. Shandra had helped them locate the resident lizardfolk tribe when the creatures had been Hells-bent on sinking every ship leaving Highcliff’s port, severely delaying their departure for Neverwinter. Unfortunately, their discussion had sufficiently distracted the farmer long enough for the lizardlings to torch her barn – and the entire year’s harvest within. Rhaine didn’t expect her to be too happy to see them….

“Shandra, you say? We’ll need to leave now. There’s no telling what those githyanki will do to her if we don’t reach her first,” Khelgar urged worriedly.

Thus, Rhaine and her companions departed Neverwinter immediately and headed southward, hoping against hope they would reach Highcliff before the githyanki did.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Hmm,” Khelgar began as they cautiously approached Shandra’s farmhouse, “looks pretty quiet. Maybe we got here before-”

Shandra’s wiry form suddenly went dashing across her fallow field, sandy hair flying as she ran from a half-dozen githyanki warriors on her heels.

“There she is! Capture her!” one of her pursuers shouted. “Zeeaire wants her alive!”

The dwarf sighed heavily, readying his axe. “Spoke too soon…”

One of the gith halted abruptly upon spying Rhaine out of the corner of his eye. “And the _Kalach-cha_ is within our reach as well, my brothers! You three, help me kill the thief. The rest of you get the girl!”

He then continued racing after Shandra while his minions intercepted Rhaine and her companions. The Doomguide shouted an invocation to the sky, calling down a column of flame that engulfed the githyanki in a blinding divine inferno. While the gith were burning to a crisp, her companions quickly finished them off.

“Come on! Quickly!” Rhaine yelled once certain those foes were down, sprinting for the farmhouse to save Shandra.

The friends followed close on her heels . The rest of the gith were searching the house; having split up, they were easy to corner and kill. Somehow, though, it didn’t feel like the fight was over. Rhaine ordered her companions to be wary as they checked every room, calling Shandra’s name and urging her to come out. At last, they found the farmer cowering next to a dresser in her bedroom, a crude club in hand to defend herself.

“What in the Nine Hells-” she began, but then glanced up at Rhaine, eyes widening in recognition. “ _You_! What are you doing here? What do you want with me?”

“Shandra, you need to come with us. You’re in… oh no,” the Doomguide started, suddenly spotting dark smoke billowing from the corner of the room.

“That’s… that’s my house! First my barn, now my _house_!?” Shandra shrieked, tearing at her hair. “Why can’t you people just _leave me alone_!”

“We’re trying to _help_ you!” Neeshka cried, stamping her foot in equal frustration.

“We need to get out of here!” Elanee shouted in warning as the flames began consuming the house like dry tinder.

Shandra wordlessly ran from them, followed closely by Rhaine and her comrades. More githyanki were waiting to ambush them outside, of course, but they fell easily to the companions’ weapons. Once their adversaries were finally slain, the company simply stood and watched as Shandra’s home burnt to ash within minutes.

Neeshka exchanged glances with Elanee. “This is a little too familiar, don’t you think?”

The druidess simply nodded, a grim expression on her face.

“So,” Shandra finally spat, spinning around to accost them. “My barn _and_ my house are both burned to the ground thanks to you. Any more of your ‘help’ and all of Highcliff will be next. I think it is best that you go your way and I go mine.”

“But wait a second,” Grobnar objected with finger raised. “We just _rescued_ you!”

“Look, I don’t know much about you people at all,” Shandra hissed, “but what I _do_ know is that wherever you go, trouble isn’t far behind. I think we should just part ways now and leave it at that.”

At that, she turned on her heels to leave her property and head to Highcliff village when five more githyanki emerged from over a hill, brandishing claymores.

Rhaine was beginning to get _very_ angry. She brought her power forth again with a snarled incantation, and a bright golden light shot forth from sky, barreling towards the gith and slamming into them like a divine fist. Grobnar was able to shoot them, then, as they were dazed from the celestial light. Elanee also cast an entanglement charm, causing the roots of the land itself to reach up and grasp the githyanki by the ankles so they could not move, and Casavir easily dispatched those who didn’t fall to the gnome’s arrows.

Afterwards, the companions formed a circle around Shandra, arms akimbo as they watched her. Rhaine’s eyebrow rose critically at the farmer. “What was that about parting ways?”

Shandra turned around slowly, her face reddening in sheepishness. “Um… thanks. I guess I should stick with you after all.”

“We’re here to help you, Shandra. All right?” Rhaine insisted. “That was our purpose from the start.”

“Our leader speaks true,” Casavir added gently. “It is not our objective to cause more trouble for you.”

The farmer looked back and forth between all of them. “Well… you could have killed me already, I’ll admit that… and you’ve destroyed everything else of mine, so… do you know anywhere safe we can go to talk?”

Rhaine nodded. “Neverwinter. My uncle has an inn called the Sunken Flagon. We base ourselves there.”

“ _Neverwinter_!?” Shandra exclaimed, her eyebrows hitting her hairline. “The only safe place you can think of is in Neverwinter?”

There were several nods of agreement from the friends.

“Fine,” she said at length with another heavy sigh, putting her head in her hand and rubbing her temples with her thumb and forefinger. “When do we leave?”

“Now.”

\------------------------------------------------------

When the companions wearily returned to the Flagon at last, Duncan greeted them with concern in his eyes.

“What in the hells happened to all of you?” he asked, his gaze settling on Rhaine.

“This is Shandra,” the Doomguide replied, gesturing to the farmer who lingered cautiously in the doorway. “We’ve rescued her from several githyanki attacks. We were wondering if you could provide her some hospitality after she lost her house to them.”

“Oh yes!” Duncan said eagerly, beckoning to her. “Please lass, come in! Make yourself at home. This here’s the Sunken Flagon. I own it. You’ll be safe and sound here. Always ready to help a damsel in distress, we are. Grobnar!” he called to the gnome. “Play a tune or something to make the lady feel at home.”

“Of course!” the bard began excitedly, “I was just thinking…”

“Look,” Duncan growled, “we don’t need a lecture on what passes through your head and out your mouth. Just _play_!”

Shandra watched Duncan with skepticism, glancing to Rhaine. “Well, the innkeeper certainly runs hot and cold…”

The Doomguide grinned. “Don’t worry, that’s my Uncle Duncan. You can trust him.”

As the friends took their seats around the common room with groans of pain and exhaustion and the rattle of armor, Sal brought them all warm mugs of cider. They sat and sipped their drinks for a few moments in silence, before Shandra finally spoke.

“So, maybe you all had better tell me what it is you want from me, now.”

“Well,” Rhaine replied slowly, gazing into her tankard, “it’s a little less about what _you_ know and more about what Ammon Jerro knew. The githyanki are after his research, and we need to get to it before they do.”

“‘Ammon Jerro’?” she repeated. “He was my grandfather. Or was it my great-grandfather? Or my great-great-grandfather…? Anyway, my mother told me he was an eccentric but humble wizard. I only knew him as a babe. She said he would cradle me and sing to me… and I would pull out his beard hairs.”

“Just keep your distance from me, lass,” Khelgar warned, draining his mug in one gulp. Everyone dissolved into chuckles.

“We’ve heard that he had some sort of ‘Haven’,” Rhaine continued after a moment. “Do you know anything about that?”

“My mother used to scare me with stories about the Haven,” Shandra said quietly, glancing away. “She always threatened to lock me in there if I wasn’t a good girl. She said it was like a maze, or a labyrinth of some sort, with devils and demons conjured from the Abyss.”

“Do you know how to get in?”

“Well,” the farmer began, “mother said that there are trials you have to pass, and even after you solve those, you have to shed blood to enter. And not just any blood will do. It has to be a fresh pint of Jerro blood… wait,” she stopped suddenly, eyes widening, “is that why you ‘rescued’ me? So you can _bleed_ me?” Shandra’s cup fell out of her hands, spilling cider all over the floor. Qara stared daggers through her.

Rhaine put her head in her hands while Casavir tried to placate the frightened woman, “That was _not_ our intention, Shandra. _Please_ , hear us out.”

“Oh, sorry,” she replied with a blush rising in her cheeks. “I guess I overreacted a bit.”

“A little paladin _charm_ sure calmed her quick,” Neeshka whispered, waggling her eyebrows as she grinned.

“But if you think you’re going to make me go to a place that used to give me nightmares as a child, forget it!” Shandra continued firmly. “And besides, a pint of blood? That’s a little much.”

Rhaine shook her head. “Your mother was probably exaggerating about the whole thing. It seems to me that if Ammon Jerro was a ‘humble but eccentric’ wizard, as you say, then his Haven is likely nothing to fear.”

“Well, I never really thought about it like that, but now that you put it that way, I guess you’re right,” Shandra replied before she stood abruptly, tossing her hands skywards. “Look, I can barely think, let alone stand. I need to get some sleep. We can talk about this more tomorrow.”

“Agreed,” said Casavir with a nod, “we should retire. We could all use the rest.”

Duncan then designated a room for Shandra, and they all went to their respective chambers for the night. Rhaine could hear Khelgar’s distinctive snores through the wall not ten minutes after they had extinguished their lights.

At least _someone_ among them could get some respite…

As for herself, she remained awake for several hours, thinking about the silver shards and Ammon Jerro’s Haven. She hadn’t even bothered to take off her armor, lying with her hands behind her head and staring at the ceiling. They needed to find out how this silver sword was broken, and she was sure that the Haven would provide that information. And yet, there was always this niggling thought in the back of her mind: _Why don’t I just give up the shards to the gith and be done with it?_

Her lips pressed together. Because the Sword Stalkers wouldn’t stop at that and she knew it. And in their unceasing search for these pieces of metal, they had murdered many innocents – something that they had yet to answer for. Furthermore, she was determined to find out what the connection was between her, her mother, and a broken githyanki silver sword.

And if neither Daeghun nor Duncan would tell her, then she would have to find out on her own.


	8. A Piece Within

“ _Alarm! Alarm!_ ”

Rhaine shot straight up in bed as Duncan’s panicked voice resonated down the hallway.

“Everybody out of bed and grab a weapon! The Flagon’s under attack!”

Her hand flew to her sword, the blade ringing as she drew it from its scabbard and jumped to her feet in one fluid movement. Brief flashbacks of the attack on West Harbor filled her mind, and a boiling fury coursed through her veins.

_Not again._

The Doomguide emerged from her chamber just in time to see two githyanki headed straight for her. They wielded massive claymores as they charged.

“The _Kalach-cha_! Kill her!”

Rhaine let her rage fuel her power. “Kelemvor! Lend me your strength!”

Instantly, her body filled with a burning energy, coursing down her limbs and steeling her swordarm. As the githyanki quickly closed in on her, she whirled, _Touch of Death_ slicing the head clean from the shoulders of one. The other brought his weapon down in a viciously-swift overhanded arc, but Rhaine sidestepped the blow and plunged the sword deep into his chest, ultimately thrusting his sputtering corpse off of the blade with her foot.

She paused briefly, heart pounding with adrenaline, and she could hear the sounds of combat throughout the inn. Just ahead of her, a shirtless Casavir stood back to back with Duncan, battling two more of the persistent githyanki. The paladin had managed to grab his hammer and shield, but Duncan was armed only with a small dagger. The half-elf was not faring well, having already taken a deep wound to his left arm that left blood trickling from his fingertips.

Focusing, Rhaine channeled her power into a ray of divine light that struck the gith in the eye, blinding him. It was just the advantage Duncan needed, and the innkeeper savagely slashed the dagger across his dazed opponent’s throat. At roughly the same time, Casavir managed to land a crushing blow atop his foe’s head, the gith’s skull splitting open as he fell.

The threesome then wordlessly dashed down the corridor and into the common room, where the rest of Rhaine’s companions were clashing with at least a half-dozen more githyanki warriors. Neeshka, clad in only her underclothes, had actually leapt onto the back of one of the gith and was stabbing him repeatedly in the shoulders and neck. A similarly vulnerable Elanee deftly blocked the swift shortsword of another with her spear, her pet badger gnawing at his ankles. Grobnar and Qara, both garbed in frilly nightgowns, held off yet another with their spells. Khelgar, shirtless like Casavir, dodged the blows of two githkanki at once, desperately pummeling at their knees with his fists.

All were dangerously exposed.

Casavir and Duncan sprinted to Khelgar’s aid while Rhaine struggled to decide what spell to cast; it was said that even the simplest magics of a priest or priestess could turn the tides of war. Praying that she was making the right move, she cast a simple blessing, soothing golden light washing over the room and the forms of her friends.

As if all of the githyanki decided to up and die at once, they fell to the floor simultaneously, defeated at once by the empowered companions. In the eerie silence that followed, Rhaine’s comrades each looked one to the other, gasping for breath. Almost every one of them bore wounds from the fight, from simple scratches to deep gashes. Elanee, Casavir, and Rhaine immediately began tending to those injured, whilst the dark man who had always lingered in the corners of the inn emerged from the shadows, bow in hand.

“How in the hells did those githyanki get into the city?” Duncan demanded, wincing as Casavir’s spell sealed his wound.

“Does that matter?” the man hissed. “You’d best be getting after them if you want to catch up with them and your farmgirl.”

“What?” Rhaine glanced up from tending to Grobnar, her brows lifted in surprise. “They took Shandra?”

“Gods’ blood!” Khelgar cursed. “When will this end?”

The man bent and plucked a twig from the foot wrappings of one of the gith warriors. “Look. This one’s got a piece of Duskwood on his sole, which means they came from deep within Luskan territory. That’s where they’ll be heading back to with your silly damsel.”

“Luskan? That’s _your_ territory Bishop,” Duncan remarked, arms crossed atop his chest, “and if that’s the case, they’ll need a guide; what better guide than one who knows that area all too well?”

“I’m not helping them, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Bishop replied matter-of-factly. “I couldn’t give a rat’s-”

“You’ll help them, Bishop,” Duncan said firmly, “whether you like it or not.”

“And what makes you think…?” Bishop started with a snarl, before his brow suddenly rose in apparent realization. There was a long silence between the two men as they stared each other down.

“Calling it due, are you, Duncan?” The ranger’s visage bore a haughty expression now, one that Rhaine didn’t like. “You sure?”

“If that’s what it takes for you to do the right thing, Bishop, then yes,” Duncan answered with a nod, arms still crossed.

“Hah!” Bishop’s look morphed into one of triumph. “It’ll be worth it to be rid of you, then. And for such a small price, too.”

“So be it,” Duncan spat.

Rhaine watched their exchange with concern. What was this deal they seemed to have made between each other? And why was Duncan associating with a man of Illusk, of all people? Neverwinter had just been recovering from an all-out war with Luskan. All this time, he had been harboring one in his inn? Why?

“All right,” the ranger addressed all those present with a louder voice and clapped his hands together as if to summon servants. “Everyone, pack your bags – we’re headed for the Luskan border. Follow my lead, don’t try to be clever, and you may just make it back alive.”

No one moved. Heavy silence permeated the common room as they glared at Bishop with hard eyes.

Rhaine walked up to the ranger, staring him in the face. “You’re not one to be giving orders. We leave when _I_ say to leave, and not before.”

“Fine,” he said, backing a step from her and shrugging indifferently. “Have it your way. But every second you waste in this tavern, your farmgirl gets that much farther out of reach. At least we’ll all know to blame Miss Holier-Than-Thou if she dies.”

At that, the Doomguide struggled to hold her temper. She whirled to her companions, eyes flashing. “Take what you need for the trip and arm yourselves, all of you. I want everyone ready to go in ten minutes,” she pointedly returned her gaze to Bishop, “after that, we’re heading out.”

“ _Qara_!” Duncan then motioned for the sorceress. “You’re released from your debt. If you want to go with them, go.”

Her face bore a distinctly smug expression. “Of _course_ I want to go! Not that I care about the stupid farmer, mind you… but I’ll make sure those githyanki _pay_ for crossing me.”

As Rhaine returned to her room to don her pack and quickly run a comb through her tangled hair, she couldn’t help but feel that things were taking a sudden turn for the worst. She didn’t trust Bishop any more than she could throw him, and Qara was going to be more of a liability than an asset.

But she didn’t exactly seem to have a choice in the matter.

\------------------------------------------------------

They approached the village of Ember, a small town in the foothills north of Neverwinter. Dusk was falling upon the town, illuminating it in a soft amber glow. Bishop walked carefully ahead of them, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Despite her obvious dislike of the ranger, Rhaine had to admit he was good at what he did.

Suddenly, he held up a hand to stop them. “Hold on. Something’s not right.”

He took a few more steps, peering at the village with squinted eyes as if to discern some secret. Rhaine cast her gaze over the town as well and a sense of alarm overcame her. It was empty. No villagers, no livestock, no… _nothing_. There was a pervading silence in the area that was more than a little disconcerting.

“No townsfolk and no livestock,” Rhaine murmured.

Bishop drew his bow and nocked an arrow. “Keep your eyes peeled – I smell an ambush.”

They moved forward slowly, then, scanning the buildings as they went. As soon as they reached the well at the center of the village, the doors to the houses opened, and fifteen githyanki jumped from the shadows. It was a tough fight, and no sooner than the group had fended off those foes, a band of ten more warriors joined the fray.

At last, however, after much expending of energy and powers, the final gith fell. Several of the companions knelt to rest, Rhaine included, breathless after such an intense fight.

Bishop leaned against the well for support. “They left a large force here… which means there will be less to deal with later on. Good. But it also means they’re moving faster.”

“We should check on the villagers,” Rhaine added after a few moments, standing once more, “see if they’re all right.”

“That’s a sound idea,” Khelgar approved.

“Agreed.” Casavir nodded. “There could be wounded amongst them.”

“And why should we care, exactly?” Bishop asked with brow furrowed. “It’s a waste of time. They let themselves be manipulated by the githyanki, so we should let them rot.”

“ _We’re_ the reason the gith were here, in case you haven’t noticed,” Rhaine retorted.

“No, the _villagers_ are the reason the gith were here,” Bishop quipped with a snort. “Tell me you aren’t as stupid as you sound? You’re from West Harbor. Duncan told me what happened there. Do you think your village would have stood a chance if you all had cowered in your homes?”

“This isn’t West Harbor,” Casavir said firmly. “And it isn’t the same situation. The villagers here are not veterans.”

“Why don’t you let Rhaine speak for herself, hmm?” Bishop snarled.

“It was not my intention to speak for her.”

“Yeah, then don’t, and maybe next time you’ll sound convincing.”

“ _Enough_!” Rhaine hissed, her hand slicing the air to silence their useless bickering.

“Right. Now that we’re done wasting our time, let’s get-” Bishop began, but was cut off as a woman ran towards them from a nearby home, causing them all to glance her way in surprise.

“Excuse me,” she started, her voice unsteady as she came to a halt a few paces away, “are you hunting Shandra Jerro?”

“Yes,” Rhaine answered with an affirming nod. “Do you know where she was taken?”

“We heard her screaming as they drug her through the village,” the woman explained, her brown eyes wide as she pointed to the road ahead. “They took her to the northeast, into the mountains, and they barely have an hour’s lead on you. Please… you must stop them!”

“We will save her,” Rhaine reassured her gently. “That is a promise.”

“You have our word,” Casavir added. “We will do everything in our power to ensure her-”

“We make _no_ such promises,” Bishop interrupted. “In fact, she could already be dead. So why don’t you go back to your house and hide with the rest of your kin?”

Rhaine glared at the ranger, and then turned back to the astonished woman. “Forgive him. It takes a dog to hunt dogs.”

A wicked grin spread across Bishop’s face at her words. “I think I’m going to enjoy this little journey of ours. Now let’s get moving before more dumb pups get in the way.”

At that, they began to leave the village, heading northwards along a simple dirt path, when a young boy stopped them at the outskirts. He was small and frail, with large eyes and pale skin. He couldn’t have been older than ten summers.

“You,” he said softly, pointing to Rhaine. “You are the one who will destroy Ember.”

“What?” the Doomguide’s eyes narrowed, and she shook her head in denial. “No… I mean this village no harm…”

“Wait,” the boy continued, his gaze suddenly distant, “it only appears to be you. Regardless, Ember shall fall, and I shall be the sole survivor… but only if you allow me to take an item from your group.”

Understanding washed over her. This child was a seer, blessed by the gods – or perhaps cursed – with the gift of foresight. His statement about her greatly unnerved her, but Rhaine slowly removed her pack, instructing the others to do the same. “Very well. You may look through my things. See if there is anything you need.”

One by one, he went through their bags, but he took nothing from them. Finally, only Bishop remained, who had refused to remove his bag from his shoulder.

“Bishop,” Rhaine said in a warning tone. “Let him look.”

“No.”

In a flash, the point of _Touch of Death_ was at the belligerent ranger’s throat. “I have had enough of your nonsense this day. Open your pack for the boy. _Now_.”

“Fine,” he acquiesced with a hissing sigh, unslinging his bag and forcefully opening it, “but touch anything and you’ll lose fingers. Understand?”

It was only a moment before the boy pointed at the ranger’s knife. “Your dagger. That is what shall ensure my survival.”

“That old thing?” Bishop asked skeptically, “It’s just my hunting knife.”

“Give him the dagger, Bishop,” Elanee insisted.

“And why should I?”

 _Touch of Death_ pressed into his flesh, almost enough to draw blood. “ _Because it’s the right thing to do_.”

The ranger stared down the silvery blade at Rhaine, a smirk on his lips as his eyes locked with hers. They stared at each other long and hard before he finally relented.

“Thank you,” the boy said, taking the knife, “we will meet again soon. Of that I am sure.”

\------------------------------------------------------

They finally reached the mouth of a cave on the slopes of Mount Hotenow. It took a minute for the company’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting inside… but once they did, they saw a host of githyanki waiting for them.

And their leader Rhaine recognized instantly as the one who slew Amie.

The Doomguide drew her sword, snarling at the gith. “ _You_.”

He grinned back at her, revealing a set of fang-like teeth that glittered in the torchlight. “Zeeaire has foretold your coming, _Kalach-cha_. She has granted me the privilege of ending you.”

“Give me your best shot. I’m _begging_ you,” she sneered, her eyes glowing with power. “I’m going to send you straight to the Hells where you belong.”

The comrades and the Sword Stalkers then clashed with a terrifying wrath. For the next few seconds, there was nothing but the continuous sound of steel against steel, clashing and echoing throughout the caverns. Everywhere _Touch of Death_ swung, the gith’s shining katana met it, sparks occasionally flying from the two blades.

Grobnar and Bishop attempted to pick the enemies off with their arrows, but had a tough time getting clear shots for the melee fighters. Elanee managed to freeze the githyanki in place with her signature entanglement charm, but not before a crossbow bolt struck the elf in the shoulder. She was momentarily removed from the fighting as she ripped the bolt out of herself with a pained grunt and sealed the wound with a healing spell. Qara retaliated by raining fireballs on the gith archers, scorching them in their scale-mail armor. The smell of burning flesh and hair filled the cavern with a sickening odor.

Khelgar and Casavir faced the others in violent melee, both suffering wounds as the gith surrounded them; they were unable to maintain their defenses against so many opponents. Neeshka had maneuvered to the rear of the githyanki, attempting to stab the foes in their backs, but she was struggling to find openings in their armor. And in the midst of this tangle of warriors, Rhaine dueled the leader in a deadly dance of blades.

Finally, the Doomguide spied an opening in the Sword Stalker’s defenses, and she wasted no time taking advantage of it. With a feint to the left, she caused him to overreach. She followed with a backhanded slash that opened his abdomen with a spray of crimson blood. Thrusting upwards into the gith as he stumbled forward, she lifted him off of his feet in her adrenaline-fueled state and buried the blade to the hilt in his chest.

With the death of their leader, the rest of the gith seemed to falter, and it was the opportunity the companions needed to finish the job. Elanee and Grobnar summoned a pair of Dire boars, then joined the melee. Finally, after several more minutes of heated battle, it was over at last. At least for now.

They were all drenched in blood from head to toe, some of it their own, but most of it belonging to the githyanki. In the pervasive silence, the only sound her labored breath, Rhaine sank to her knees beside the leader’s body, leaning on _Touch of Death_ so heavily that its point buried itself an inch into the soft cave floor.

_Thank you for this revenge, my lord._

\------------------------------------------------------

After a few hours’ worth of rest, cleaning, and healing, they decided to press further into the caves. Rhaine wanted to meet with this “Zeeaire” that the gith kept mentioning. She had a feeling that it was this one who had orchestrated all of the attacks on her and her friends, and the priestess was determined to deliver justice.

Suddenly, though, as they rounded a corner in the tunnels, Bishop held up a hand. They stopped and crouched low, watching the cavern ahead with breath held. There, two winged succubi stood in front of a frightening metal construct, its arms made from gigantic blades – although it appeared to be deactivated, broken, or both. Dead githyanki littered the floor behind them. It was a familiar scene – a similar construct had torn into what had also been githyanki back in the Merchant Quarter before being driven through a portal...

“ _Demons_ ,” Casavir whispered. “There is another player in this game.”

They continued watching as the succubi began tearing at the construct. Seeing this as a good opportunity to attack, the companions leaped forward. Rhaine and Casavir, immune to the succubi’s seductive magics, faced them head on, slaying both demons in seconds and allowing the group to proceed without fear.

It was then that Grobnar approached the broken construct with a slack-jawed expression on his face, his tiny form barely reaching the thing’s knees. He stroked the metal, and his whole body shuddered.

“My _word_ ,” he whispered, evidently almost entranced at what he saw before him. “Isn’t it marvelous? Beautiful? Wondrous? I’ve never seen anything like it…”

“Well, if it wasn’t on the side of the gith or the demons, that makes _three_ opposing factions in this cavern,” Bishop stated, irritation evident in his tone.

“Can we keep him?” Grobnar turned and gazed up at Rhaine pleadingly, looking not unlike a begging child.

“Someone twisted the ore into this form,” Elanee remarked with distaste. “It is not natural and quite possibly lethal to all of us.”

“It’s a _golem_ , not an ogre,” Qara quipped. “It isn’t like it has a mind of its own. And it’s _obviously_ broken.”

“Grobnar,” Rhaine said at length, choosing her words carefully, “we don’t exactly have a place to put it right now. I’m glad you find it fascinating, but it will have to stay here until we can find a suitable location for you to work on it.”

“Oh,” the gnome replied dejectedly, face falling. “Well… you’re right, I guess.”

As the group continued down another winding corridor, he glanced back over his shoulder once, sniffled, and waved. “Goodbye, construct.”

\------------------------------------------------------

“These are Illefarn ruins,” Elanee whispered.

They had entered a chamber at the end of a winding tunnel and found themselves inside an ancient stone structure of some sort. Just ahead, three more succubi surrounded another strange creature that had been trapped in a binding circle, attempting to seduce him with their wiles.

“And that is a Pit Fiend,” Casavir murmured, “a greater devil of Baator. Take care… his kind are powerful and manipulative.”

“Not so powerful if he got himself stuck in a summoning circle,” Qara said at full volume, making Rhaine sigh heavily.

The succubi, on hearing the sorceress’s voice, whirled to face them.

“Thanks a lot, fire-hair,” Neeshka hissed as she leapt into action, daggers in hand.

Once again, the demons fell to the holy warriors’ weapons fairly easily. All the while, the Pit Fiend watched with a slightly bemused expression on his face. He could almost have been taken for an elf, had it not been for his leathery blue skin and brilliant orange eyes. Behind him, the only corridor that led farther into the ruin was blocked from wall to wall by a shining magical barrier. The company approached him carefully once the succubi were dispatched. He simply grinned at them, the sight of his fang-like teeth rather unnerving…

“You have done me a service by slaying those tanar’ri. I would wish to aid you in return for such actions, if you would allow me,” he said.

“I’m sure your request has a great many catches,” Rhaine answered, eyebrow raised critically, “but I have precious little patience for such things.”

“Ah,” he replied, dipping his head in acknowledgment, “diplomatic as well, it seems. I, too, have little patience for the ways of my lesser brethren, so I shall be brief. Yes, what I do _will_ be beneficial to us both. But it will also require an additional favor on your part.

“This barrier behind me blocks passage to your goal. I am bound here to maintain it. To remove the barrier, all you need to do is speak my True Name and banish me from this plane. This will both advance you and free me from my enslavement.”

Rhaine glanced at the barrier. “It is an interdimensional object, is it not? Wouldn’t another item of the same substance destroy it upon contact?”

The devil nodded. “Yes, it would. But you possess no such thing, and so you must resort to banishing me.”

She sighed, mulling over the decision. True, releasing him would unleash a powerful evil back onto the planes. But she needed to get past that barrier. And devils, unlike demons, were bound by the laws of the planes. They had _some_ system of honor, regardless of their malevolent ways.

“Did a woman named Shandra pass through here?” she asked, deciding to take advantage of his imprisonment in order to obtain more information about the situation.

“Yes, led by githyanki warriors.”

“What do they plan to do to her?”

He sighed heavily. “They wish to sift through her thoughts for whatever information they need. They will ravage through her memories until nothing remains, and then they will sacrifice her.”

“And this Zeeaire, is she beyond?”

He nodded again. “She is indeed. Along with a Hezrou demon named Zaxis. He is attempting to reach her and take the shards that she possesses – shards like the ones I sense you carry, on the command of his master.”

“Wait,” Rhaine queried, “how did Zaxis get past the barrier?”

“It was not here when he arrived,” the devil replied simply. “I was bound here by the githyanki. Zaxis killed my summoner and thus gained control over me. It was Zaxis who commanded me to raise the barrier.”

“Has he reached Zeeaire yet?” she asked.

“No. And his frustration grows. Take care with him. He is mighty, and his anger fuels his strength.”

She nodded her understanding. “Very well. Tell me your True Name. I shall banish you, _but_ ” she held up a finger, “only if you honor your end of the bargain in thought and deed.”

He seemed to steel himself, and for good reason. The surrender of one’s True Name meant the knower could have total control over that being. Most mortals never even knew their own True Names.

“Of course. I am bound by laws, as you well know. My True Name is Mephasm.”

Rhaine then looked the devil in straight in the eyes, “Mephasm, I command you to be banished from this plane.”

The barrier flickered, crackled, and then snapped into the form of a sphere, which the devil then caught as it flew towards him. He extended it to Rhaine, “You see? What a simple little thing – that’s all it is. An interdimensional sphere. Hold on to it; you shall need it soon, I’d wager.”

Flames suddenly engulfed his body, and he smiled eerily once again, “And now, to the Hells. We shall meet again, mortal.”

With that, Mephasm vanished.

\------------------------------------------------------

_Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!_

“Open up, little fleshlings! Zaxis comes to feast on your souls!”

Zaxis the Hezrou demon was pounding away on a chamber door ahead of them. A hulking mound of ten-foot-tall, sickly grey flesh, he had clawed fists the size of boars and just as nasty. An aura of green smoke surrounded him, smelling of sulfur even as far away as the group stood from him.

He turned on hearing their footsteps. “What? More flies come to harass Zaxis? It matters not. Zaxis will soon devour all of you, as soon as Zaxis opens this door.”

“Well, looks like Zaxis has lost the fight already, hasn’t Zaxis?” Neeshka mocked, her tail twitching in mischief.

“No! Zaxis has not lost! Zaxis has run into a barrier is all.”

Suddenly, Rhaine struck with an idea. If the demon’s task was to get to Zeeaire, he had already failed… and a demon failing his task resulted in his banishment back to the Abyss to be tortured for his lack of success…

“But if you can’t open the door,” the Doomguide began slowly, “you have indeed failed your master, haven’t you?” She then winked at Neeshka, hoping the clever rogue would pick up on her suggestion.

The tiefling took the cue with a grin. “She’s right, you know. It’s all over for you. You’re a big… fat… _failure_.”

Zaxis growled in anger, taking a giant step towards them. But then the floor began to shake and split open beneath him, glowing a malevolent red-orange.

“ _Nooooo_! Zaxis has not failed! Zaxis has not-”

His screams of protest were silenced as his form was promptly swallowed into the earth, falling into the depths of the Abyss before the stones sealed back over him.

In the aftermath, Neeshka positively cackled, her laughter ringing on the halls. “That was _amazing_!”

“Aye, but the fight isn’t over yet, fiendling,” Khelgar warned, motioning to the door that had just been opened and was beckoning them all to come forth…

\------------------------------------------------------

The companions entered the room. There, standing in the center of a spherical portal, was Zeeaire herself. The githyanki was surrounded by a dozen warriors of her race, all ready to pounce on them. Behind her, trapped in a steel cage, was Shandra – alive, much to Rhaine’s relief.

Zeeaire was like all githyanki, with her tight and leathery grey-green skin. But she had far more delicate facial features than the males of her race. Her dark hair was pulled into a twist at the back of her head, decorated by an elaborate feathered headdress. In one hand, she held a menacing claymore.

She smiled at Rhaine wickedly. “These demons were unanticipated, but _your_ arrival was not. I have seen it burning brightly in my visions for quite some time. How long did you think you could escape our wrath, _Kalach-cha_? You have stolen our silver shards, corrupted them by _touching_ them with your unholy hands, and now you will die for that crime.”

“You have murdered many innocents and kidnapped a woman,” Rhaine retorted, “and _you_ will answer for _that_ crime.”

“Trust me,” Shandra shouted from her cage, “once Rhaine gets on your trail, you’re doomed!”

“My offer of mercy is this,” Zeeaire continued, ignoring the interjections, “hand over the shards, and you and your companions will receive a quick death.”

“Funny,” Rhaine replied, readying her weapon. “I was just about to offer you the same thing.”

Suddenly, though, Rhaine felt her body lifted from the floor of the room, as if picked up by an invisible, giant hand. She struggled to right herself and return to her feet, but to no avail, and panic filled her as her companions shouted their alarm. A whistling sound then filled the air as the shards _ripped_ themselves out of the pouch at her belt and landed squarely in Zeeaire’s waiting hands.

“Fool!” the gith laughed wickedly. “Did you think you could keep such relics of our people? They do not belong to you!”

A burning sensation began to grow steadily in her chest, as if her very heart were on fire. With every quickened pulse, a metallic throb coursed through her veins, _singing_ in her blood…

“Odd,” Zeeaire muttered curiously. “I have all the shards you carried… and yet you still possess one.”

The gith clenched her fist and Rhaine cried out in pain as the agonizing burning intensified tenfold. It felt as if something was trying to tear right through her sternum…

“You have a piece of the sword inside of you.”

A pale blue glow manifested above Rhaine’s breastplate as Zeeaire’s magic tugged the shard yet within her.

_What in the Nine Hells?_

“And I shall take it from you _by force_!” Zeeaire shouted, hefting her claymore. “Slay the _Kalach-cha_!”

The room erupted into combat. Spells were slung everywhere, by Elanee, Grobnar, Qara, and Zeeaire, bright flashes of light nearly blinding her. Casavir, Khelgar, and Neeshka yelled battle cries as they flew headlong into melee, trying to keep the gith from the weakened Doomguide. Rhaine was dropped unceremoniously on the floor, gasping in pain, her chest aching and burning. She glanced at the sphere she still clutched in her offhand, and then at the portal. As long as it remained intact, Zeeaire was untouchable.

And then it dawned on her.

It was interdimensional.

Offering a fleeting prayer to Kelemvor, Rhaine then _hurled_ the sphere at the portal with all her strength. Time seemed to slow as it sailed through the air, inches from the edge of a githyanki sword, avoiding a magical icicle by mere centimeters…

The portal exploded on contact, and everyone in the room was plastered against all four walls. Zeeaire screeched as her only protection was destroyed. “ _Noooo_! The portal! Without it-”

But she was drowned out as the battle resumed. Rhaine and Zeeaire locked eyes, charging at each other with roars of hatred. Their duel was three times as intense as the one with the Sword Stalker had been. Claymore and bastard sword sang through the air, coming together so forcefully that blue sparks flew upon every impact. Rhaine completely blocked out everyone and everything but Zeeaire, trusting her friends to watch her back and help each other as she focused on bringing down her personal enemy.

Sheer adrenaline had eliminated any pain for the time being, and Rhaine began silently casting spells as she fought, drawing upon her newfound energy. Red magic leapt from the Doomguide’s hands and onto the gith, lacerating the leathery skin until dozens of crimson rivulets trickled down her body. Zeeaire enjoyed no such advantage; her spells were all cast with verbal components, and thus Rhaine always knew when one was coming. The gith attempted to cast a dazing charm on her, but the priestess shrugged off the magic with ease, her anger steeling her mind against the effects of the spell.

To anyone who watched, they would have thought the two were in a deadly dance routine. Both women moved with alien grace, both of them possessing fearful power, and both of them determined to kill the other then and there. The battle with the remainder of the gith had long subsided, and the companions observed the duel with awed and anxious expressions on their faces. It was obvious some of them wanted to act, but they each realized that this was Rhaine’s fight, not theirs.

Finally, Zeeaire’s strength began to fail her. Her sword was too large and too heavy to keep swinging. For every miss of hers, Rhaine landed two strikes with _Touch of Death_ , until the gith collapsed on the floor of the ruin, winded and weakened from pain and blood loss. She dropped her weapon, looking up at the Doomguide, who pressed her blade to the gith’s throat.

“You,” Zeeaire rasped. “You think you’ve won? You’ve won nothing, _Kalach-cha_. The Lich Queen will know of my fall… too late, of course. But what awaits you will be revenge enough for me.”

“You brought all of this upon yourself, githyanki,” Rhaine hissed, panting for breath. “We could have resolved this without bloodshed, but you insisted on hunting me, murdering my friends and any innocent in your way. You brutality has cost you your life.”

“We were never the ones you had to fear,” Zeeaire continued, her cough rattling with blood. “In challenging our will you have harmed everything on your plane….”

Rhaine’s brow furrowed deeply. “What? Explain yourself!”

Zeeaire coughed again, gasping for air. “Our people shall strike at you no more. This was the last stronghold devoted to the retrieval of silver swords. And thus, you have sealed your fate, _Kalach-cha_.”

“I don’t understand,” Rhaine hissed. “Speak plainly.”

“The shards were _needed_!” Zeeaire spat. “ _All_ were needed! The ones you carry… the one inside you! A great evil rises on this plane, _Kalach-cha_ , and in slaying me, you face it alone!”

“What evil? Tell me at once!”

Zeeaire merely smiled, her teeth red with her own blood. “I will see you in death, _Kalach-cha_. I do not think I will have to wait long.”

With that, the githyanki slid to the ground, body limp, her eyes closed.

There was a long silence as they all looked down at the dead gith. After a moment, Rhaine recovered her shards from Zeeaire’s corpse, along with two more that the gith possessed. She also took a key, which she handed to Neeshka. “Free Shandra.”

While the tiefling obeyed her request, Khelgar and Casavir both moved closer to Rhaine. “You all right, lass?” the dwarf asked, concern writ on his face.

The paladin, too, watched her with worry. “What Zeeaire did to you… did it harm you?”

Rhiane shook her head. “It was painful, but I think I am all right. Thank you both for your concern.”

“So now the githyanki are replaced with an unnamed ‘evil’?” Elanee asked. “And you have a piece of a silver sword buried in your chest?”

“So it seems,” Rhaine answered, looking to Shandra. Neeshka was helping her out of the cage, letting the farmer lean on her for support. The pair walked up to the priestess, and Shandra sighed heavily. “I’m so _tired_ of you having to rescue me. Somehow, I’m going to have to find a way to pay you back.”

“Oh, there’ll be plenty of time to do that on the way home,” Bishop remarked with an evil leer. “I know my bedroll could use some warming.”

At that, Casavir stepped between him and Shandra. “I won’t have you talking to her or anyone else that way, Bishop.”

“Oh, really? Well, how would you like it if I left you stranded here with Her Holy Highness to keep you company?”

“That’s _enough_!” Rhaine barked sharply. “We’re leaving _now_.”

Once they emerged from the ruins and began making their way back to Neverwinter, Rhaine walked in contemplative silence. She had always had a thin scar on her chest, running down half her sternum, and she had always wondered where exactly it had come from. Daeghun had told her she had fallen on something as a toddler, but now it seemed that was not so.

Not at all.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Hey! Welcome back!” Duncan greeted them all cheerfully as the group returned to the Flagon. “And you all made it in one piece, too.”

“With a piece inside, more like it,” Rhaine remarked flatly.

“Wait, what?” Duncan asked, a surprised expression flickering across his countenance.

“There’s a silver shard in my chest, don’t you know?” Her gaze was pointed as she met his.

Duncan’s mouth dropped open at her words. “Inside the wound on your chest? How… I mean, what are you talking about?”

“Ah,” Bishop said, seating himself on a sofa with a smirk. “Notice the stumble in his words? Uncle’s been keeping secrets.”

“Silence, Bishop!” Duncan ordered sharply. He then took Rhaine aside by the arm. “If you’ve got one of those things buried inside you, you have a right to know everything, regardless of how Daeghun feels about it.”

“Start talking.”

He sighed heavily, glancing away briefly. “We’ve already mentioned it, but when you were young, West Harbor was the site of a terrible battle. The Mere had been consumed by shadows and demons – villages all over were caught unawares. The forces of Neverwinter attempted to drive them back, but to no avail.

“Villagers panicked and fled left and right… but your mother, Esmerelle, and Daeghun’s wife, Shayla, stayed behind to save you. They fought to reach your crib. By the time Daeghun realized they were missing, it was too late. West Harbor was overwhelmed.

“When the smoke cleared and he returned to the village, no one was left alive – except you. You were clutched to your mother’s bosom, covered in blood, with that horrible wound on your chest. Esmerelle must have tried to shield you from something, but it cut through her and into you. We thought you would die from the injury, but you didn’t; the wound sealed itself within days. You were called a miracle child.

“But if that wound was indeed caused by a shard, then that raises many a question,” he finally sighed. “And I’m afraid I’m just all out of answers.”

Rhaine nodded, remaining silent for a few moments. So _that_ was why Daeghun resented her so much. He blamed her for the death of his wife, because she and her mother both had tried to rescue her. Had they just left her for dead, they would both still be alive.

Two lives sacrificed to save one.

“Thank you,” she said finally, swallowing hard. “I know that must have been… difficult… to share.”

Duncan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It was good to finally speak of it. Daeghun will probably be furious I told you, but it had to be done. He probably thought it would be too much for you, but you have a right to know the truth, however badly it hurts.”

“What’s the matter, you two?” Bishop suddenly said loudly. “Somebody die? If so, sounds like a cause for a celebration.” The ranger tossed an apple at Grobnar, hitting the gnome squarely in the head. “Grobnar, you worthless half-man… strike up a tune before I strike you.”

Then, turning his attention to Rhaine, he added, “Just so you know, I’ve decided it would be in your best interest if I stayed on with you.”

“And why would you want to do that?” she asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Come now,” he answered mockingly, “does a man _need_ a reason?”

“We don’t need any more of your help, Bishop,” Casavir replied bluntly.

“You’ve done enough Bishop,” Duncan agreed. “You don’t have to-”

“Oh come _on_ , Duncan,” the ranger said, leaning back on the cushions and crossing one ankle atop his other knee. “I still _owe_ you… and besides, a debt is a debt all the way to the end, isn’t that right?”

“I hate to say it,” Shandra began tentatively, obviously trying to change the subject, “but what happens to _me_ now? I can’t just go back to my farm… it’s in ruin.”

Rhaine thought for a moment. “Well, you could always come with us.”

“ _What_?!” Neeshka nearly choked on her ale.

“Hasn’t she been through enough, Rhaine?” Elanee asked, brows lifted.

The Doomguide shook her head. “She has no home and no means of protection. What better way to safeguard her and pay her back for her troubles than to keep her with us?”

“If she’s going to do that, though, she needs some training up,” Khelgar observed. “We can’t just keep rescuing her.”

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much!” Shandra retorted. When the group cast skeptical looks in her direction, though, she stammered, “I mean… when there’s not too many lizardfolk… or githyanki…”

“So what are your skills?” Rhaine inquired.

“I know how to use a sword, and I can handle myself in a fight,” she replied slowly. “I mean, I’m no spellcaster, but if you could use an extra blade…” she trailed.

There was a moment of silence as they all thought.

“Look,” Shandra said at length, taking Rhaine by the shoulders, “however you want me to fit into this, you can’t leave me behind. Anytime I let you out of my sight, that’s when bad things start happening. We have to stay together, all right?”

Rhaine took a breath, and then nodded. “I’ll protect you and stick by you, no matter what happens. That is a promise, Shandra. We didn’t mean for anything to happen to your home, and we’ll try our best to make it up to you.”

Shandra smiled, releasing her. “That’s all I ask.”

“So,” Bishop interrupted, “the little farmer girl is going to join with us, too? Good. Someone has to make up for the paladin or catch arrows if Grobnar’s already dead. But enough of that. _Duncan_! Crack open some of these kegs… let us drown the Flagon in wine.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Most of the companions kept to themselves for the rest of the evening, not wanting to socialize after such an eventful tenday. Rhaine, especially, wanted to be left alone. She was particularly disturbed by her newfound knowledge, both about herself and her mother.

As she sipped her own wine in a dark corner of the tavern, she immersed herself in her thoughts. So she was a “miracle child” – saved by the merest chance. By all accounts, she should be dead. Did the magic of the shard have something to do with her survival? And why would a silver sword have been broken in the midst of the Battle of West Harbor? Were the githyanki there? And why were demons and shadows involved? She had a feeling that it had something to do with this “King of Shadows” that kept popping up in the story of the battle… this mysterious sorcerer that no one seemed to know anything at all about.

And her mother – Esmerelle had stared death in the face to save her child, and Shayla had stood side by side with her. She knew now why Daeghun was so distant and so cold. His wife had died trying to help a child who wasn’t even remotely related to him. But in keeping the circumstances of hers and Esmerelle’s death a secret, he dishonored their memories. All her life Rhaine believed that her mother had died giving birth to her.

Why did Daeghun not believe her deserving of the truth?


	9. Framed

For the next few days, Rhaine immersed herself in training Shandra so that she could stand on her own in a fight. The farmer was indeed capable enough, if a bit clumsy at times. As they progressed through various routines, it was clear she favored a shortsword: a blade long enough to keep foes at arm’s reach, but light enough to prevent her from tiring too easily during combat. Surprisingly, though, she liked heavier armor; it apparently provided her with a much-desired sense of security, as a full harness of plates was quite difficult to get past with most weapons.

Shandra had been in the midst of a sparring session with Neeshka in the common room of the Flagon when a stranger suddenly walked into the inn, pausing at the door as it shut behind him. He was a tall and lean man, his face as chiseled as a statue. His strawberry blonde hair was neatly trimmed and combed, his youthful face was clean-shaven, and his brown eyes were sharp in the lanternlight. A rich blue and grey tunic, belted at the waist, bore the Eye of Neverwinter emblazoned in white upon the breast.

“There you are,” he said at length, once he spotted Rhaine sitting across the room at the bar. The Doomguide had perched there, her back to Sal, in order to observe Shandra’s training at a distance, but that ceased immediately upon the man’s entry.

Upon being greeted so, Rhaine slid from her seat with caution, brow furrowed. “Do I know you?”

“That’s Sir Nevalle of the Neverwinter Nine,” Duncan supplied at her side, leaning against the corner of the bar with one hand, “the bodyguards of Lord Nasher, in case you didn’t know.”

“Ah,” she answered with a nod of understanding, greeting the man with a warm smile. “How may I be of service, then?”

Nevalle took a breath, hesitating. “I am here because Luskan has accused you of murder… and of an entire village, no less. Have you heard of Ember?”

Rhaine’s jaw dropped, her mind reeling. “ _What_? I… I traveled _through_ there. I didn’t kill anyone!”

The knight shook his head in dismay, his lips pressed together. “I’ve _stepped_ in things I respect more than I do Luskan,” he growled, “but if we cannot find a way of clearing you of these charges, then we will have to surrender you to them.”

Sighing heavily, he crossed his arms and elaborated further, “Neverwinter signed a treaty with Luskan that permits them to dispense low justice to any commoner found committing crimes on their soil. If you were a member of the nobility – a lord, knight, or even just a squire - things would be different. You would be subject to high justice, and your trial would take place in Neverwinter before Lord Nasher.

“I’m not about to turn over a loyal Watchwoman on this day or any other,” he said firmly. “I know of a way we can avoid giving you up… and allow us to expose these Luskan lies for what they are.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Rhaine asked. Since this Sir Nevalle evidently already had a plan in mind, she was more than willing to hear it.

“Go see Sir Grayson Corrett and become his squire,” Nevalle answered. “I’ve told him to meet you at Captain Brelaina’s office in the Merchant Quarter. I’m also going to send a friend of mine to help you… his aid has proved invaluable in such cases in the past. Bear in mind, though, that this must still go to trial, and if you cannot prove your innocence in the courtroom, then you _will_ face execution.”

“This is…” Rhaine put her head in her hands, nearly overwhelmed with shock and horror at this turn of events. “This is _outrageous_. I-I can’t…”

“I know,” Nevalle said gently. “Let us take this one step at a time. Go meet with Grayson for now. We’ll deal with the rest after you’ve been accepted as his squire. But be warned that until this matter is resolved, the gates of Neverwinter will be barred to you; seek out Grayson but do not attempt to leave the city.

“I will take my leave for now,” he finished, bowing slightly. “But we will speak again soon.”

And with that, the Nine left as quietly as he had arrived.

A long, oppressive silence followed Nevalle’s departure. Rhaine was utterly speechless. She could hardly believe that Luskan was framing her for murder – someone wanted her dead, and badly. That much was plain. But who? What had she done to offend Luskan on such a personal level?

Or, more likely, what did they want that she possessed?

Duncan clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. “There’s no way I’m letting those Luskans get their filthy hands on you!”

“And we’re innocent!” Neeshka exclaimed. “Accusing us of the murder of a _whole village_? That’s a bit much, even by Luskan standards.”

“Really?” Bishop retorted, looking askance at the flabbergasted tiefling. “If you have anything Luskan desires, they’d burn down a whole city for it… they _don’t care_. They attacked Neverwinter before, and now they’re sending an entire fleet to raid Ruathym – supposedly because of a stupid book.”

“But there’s still something we can do about it,” Shandra reminded them. “All you have to do is become a squire and Luskan can’t touch you.”

At that moment, Sal glanced up from cleaning the bar and gestured to the door. “Uh, Duncan. We have another guest.”

Everyone simultaneously followed the bartender’s finger, and Duncan angrily snapped. “As if the day couldn’t get any worse. What do you want, Sand?”

The elven wizard’s face was stern as he closed the door behind him, looking first at Duncan and then to Rhaine. “I’m here to help you and your kin. I’ve heard about your… _troubles_ … with Luskan. I know you may find my sincerity hard to believe, but I wish to aid you in uncovering the truth of this matter.” He straightened, adjusting his robes as he took a breath and then spoke to the Doomguide directly, “There are laws and there is right and wrong. I know you uphold the law, and I also know that neither your profession nor your faith would allow you to commit such a heinous crime – so I do not believe you are guilty of this.

“Please, allow me to help you clear your name,” he continued, “bringing Luskan ‘truths’ to light is something I particularly delight in doing. There is more to this than meets the eye, rest assured, and we _will_ find out what they are hiding.”

She inclined her head to him graciously. “I would welcome your aid, Sand, if this is indeed your area of expertise,” she replied, slightly surprised that he was the “friend” Nevalle had mentioned, but deeply glad of his help nonetheless.

“Excellent!” The hedge wizard grinned wickedly, rubbing his hands together as if in excitement. “Now, let’s go foil a Luskan plot, shall we?”

\------------------------------------------------------

Eager for whatever legal protection she could obtain, Rhaine promptly went to Grayson at Brelaina’s office and swore herself into his service. The old knight knew of her immediate need, and thus he waived most of the formalities of becoming a squire save for one thing: she had to perform a vigil, staying awake all night in a secluded glade with nothing but her own thoughts for company. Rhaine did not feel comfortable with the idea at all… not because of the tradition itself, of course, but because she would be left quite vulnerable for the duration. Still, she agreed.

Sure enough, Luskan had somehow caught wind of their plan, even in that short time, and sent assassins to kill her while she was alone. Shandra, however, made a surprise appearance, jumping into the fray and helping Rhaine fend off her attackers. The former farmgirl had sensed that trouble might have sought out her new teacher, and she was more than pleased to have been of aid to the Doomguide for once. She lingered for a few hours in order to make sure no one else attempted to slay Rhaine in her ritual solitude, before finally slipping away prior to Sir Grayson’s return at dawn.

In the morning, Rhaine informed her new knight what had happened. As it turned out, he was not at all surprised at the turn of events, and he expressed his gladness that Rhaine had survived. Grayson then escorted her back to Neverwinter, stopping briefly to pick up Sand at the Flagon and then continuing on to the Blacklake District. They had to inform Lord Nasher – and the Luskan ambassador – of Rhaine’s station as a member of the nobility.

\------------------------------------------------------

As the group approached Castle Never, Rhaine admired its beauty. It was a magnificent structure, built from pale grey stone and decorated with rich blue and gold banners. Symbols of Tyr, god of justice and patron of Neverwinter, adorned the standards along with the city’s signature eye insignia.

Within, the throne room lay at the end of a long entrance hall. The interior was just as richly ornamented as the exterior, sporting black-and-white tiled marble. In the throne room proper, Lord Nasher himself sat on a golden throne atop a tall dais. Sir Nevalle stood waiting at his side. The Luskan ambassador, Torio Claven, also lingered nearby, and she watched with a hint of disdain on her face as Rhaine, Sand, and Grayson approached the throne.

Torio was a petite and stocky woman, pale skinned, with short-cropped chestnut hair and hazel eyes; her facial features were almost gnomish in structure. The ambassador’s garish outfit was hardly suitable for court attire – a one-piece dress, the skirt of which was slit nearly to her hip and made of a tacky pastel plaid. The bodice was a form-fitting sky blue fabric, with a plunging neckline and half-sleeves, as well as a gigantic seagull-feather hood draping her sloped shoulders. She wore only one long, dark blue glove that matched her similarly colored knee boots, and her copious amounts of beaded jewelry were just as gaudy as her dress.

“Greetings, Lord Nasher,” Sir Grayson said at last, bowing before the ruler of Neverwinter.

Nasher looked down on them with a stern gaze, his brow slightly furrowed. He wore a ceremonial suit of ivory hued armor, the golden crown of Never gracing his bald pate. His eyes were dark blue, like the banners that adorned his castle, and he sported a neatly trimmed brown beard. How his and Nevalle’s appearances clashed with that of Torio…

“Ah, Sir Grayson,” Nasher replied, a smile spreading across his face as he regarded the elder warrior, “how wonderful to see you. What brings you here today, good knight?”

“My Lord Nasher,” Grayson began, gesturing to Rhaine. “It has come to my attention that this woman has been accused by Luskan of murder. I wish to inform you that she is my squire and is not to be sent to Luskan for trial.”

Torio crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at Rhaine. “What nonsense is this? This knight has no squire.”

“Take care, Torio,” Nasher warned casually, “lest I think you are accusing one of my knights of speaking lies.”

“I hear only the words of a man shielding a murderer!” Torio retorted, raising her eyebrow at the Lord of Neverwinter.

“ _Gods_ ,” Sand hissed at Rhaine’s side, shaking his head in disgust.

“Well then,” Nasher continued, turning his gaze to Rhaine, “let the accused speak. What say you? Are you Sir Grayson’s squire?”

“I am,” Rhaine answered firmly, inclining her head to him, “and I have and will continue to serve Neverwinter faithfully and well.”

“Then it is settled,” Nasher said simply, returning his gaze to Torio. “She will be tried here, in my court, and _not_ in Luskan, ambassador.”

“ _Despicable_! There is no justice in this!” Torio spat, flouncing indignantly from the dais. After a few steps, she added over her shoulder snidely, “But I was a _fool_ to expect justice in Neverwinter, _City of Tyr_.”

They were silent, then, as she stormed from the castle, a cadre of royal guards on her heels to ensure she left. After a moment, Nasher winked at Rhaine, “Seeing that gloating smile stripped from her face pleases me more than you will know.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, sighing heavily, “this has only bought us a little time, I’m afraid. We need to get to the bottom of this matter and quickly. Squire Rhaine, you now have my permission to leave the city to conduct an investigation.”

“We must find out the truth of what happened at Ember,” Nevalle added, “and Luskan is involved, of that we are certain. Gather as much evidence as you can that both confirms your innocence and incriminates Luskan.”

“Once you are ready,” Lord Nasher finished, “return here and present what you have found, and we will host the trial. I would advise you to begin your hunt in Port Llast, as they have had frequent dealings with the people of Ember.”

Sand bowed. “Of course, Lord Nasher. We shall begin at once.”

Nasher nodded to the elf and offered a warm smile to Rhaine. “Gods be with you, Squire, and congratulations on your accomplishment. Serve Neverwinter, and she will serve you.”

\------------------------------------------------------

“Well, we’re here,” Sand stated flatly, lifting up the hem of his robes slightly as he carefully picked his way forward. “Try not to step in the local… _culture_.”

Rhaine looked around. Port Llast was only slightly larger than West Harbor, and the port alone accounted for half of the town. The other half consisted of an inn, a tiny town hall, and a handful of merchant stalls. The smell of saltwater and brine filled the air, along with the sounds of the pounding waves and ceaseless chatter of the gulls.

The weather was dreadful. She, Sand, and Shandra had their hoods pulled up to guard from the frigid wind and constant drizzle, which did nothing to make the group look any less suspicious to onlookers. It was obvious the townsfolk were on edge after what happened in nearby Ember; what few people were out and about looked over their shoulders with darting eyes.

“So, where to first?” Rhaine asked, deferring to Sand for the time being.

The wizard pointed to the town hall. “We need to talk with Haeromos. He’s the steward, and can likely provide us with the most information.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to talk with the locals, either,” Shandra added.

“That is true,” Sand replied with a nod. He shivered as the dampness chilled him to the bone.

“Right then, let’s go,” Rhaine said finally, moving towards the town hall, adding, “and… I’m glad to have you with me, Sand.”

The little wizard positively beamed. “Do not trouble yourself. It is my _pleasure_ , dear Doomguide.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Haeromos looked up from his paperwork as he heard people enter the building. The steward was a middle-aged man, with a shock of unkempt sandy hair and a scruffy beard. He greeted them customarily, but when he saw Rhaine pull down her hood, he narrowed his eyes at her, resting a hand on his sword hilt.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve to show yourself here,” he hissed, “many people in this town had friends in Ember. If they find out who you are-”

“I’m here to clear my name,” Rhaine interrupted, not having the patience to put up with his posturing. “I am innocent of these charges.”

Haeromos stared at her for a long moment before speaking again, “You may conduct your business here. But you will be watched, understand? If you have questions, voice them now. As you might suspect, I am a very busy man.”

“What really happened at Ember, then?” she asked, hands on her hips.

“Is it not plain enough?” Haeromos quipped. “The whole town was slaughtered and burned to the ground, all by _your_ hand. Would that Ember were in _my_ dominion…”

“… you would do _nothing_ ,” Rhaine interjected firmly. “My fate will be determined by a court of law. Not here and certainly not by you. Now, perhaps you’d like to explain why you and everyone else are so certain that this murderer was me?”

“There was a witness!” Haeromos exclaimed, as if it were obvious. “You were described in _great_ detail.”

“There was a survivor?” Shandra whispered behind her. “Who, I wonder?”

“If there was a witness, I need to speak with them,” Rhaine stated.

“Absolutely not,” Haeromos replied without hesitation, crossing his arms. “She’s been through enough. And I’m certain she doesn’t want to see _you_.”

Rhaine scowled at the man. “I have orders directly from Lord Nasher Alagondar. You would interfere with a Squire of Neverwinter’s official investigation of this matter?”

“I-” he hesitated, then ultimately sighed in resignation. “Very well. Guard, tell Alaine to come out for a moment.”

A guard nodded and opened a side room, poking his head in and murmuring a few words to someone inside. There was some shuffling before the witness at last came into view. It was the woman with whom Rhaine had spoken when Bishop was with them – when they had saved the village from the githyanki.

“Shandra?” Alaine gasped, running forward towards the farmer with arms outstretched. “Shandra, is that really you?”

Shandra hugged the woman close. “Shh, Alaine. It’s all right. I’m here to help you. Look, I brought frie-”

“ _You_!” Alaine’s eyes grew impossibly wide as she saw Rhaine, and she wiggled out of Shandra’s grasp to back away. “Shandra... Shandra it’s _her_! She… she…”

“Alaine, she couldn’t have,” Shandra said gently, trying to calm her friend. “She’s not-”

“I saw you _kill_ those people! You… you slew the quartermaster as he begged on his knees!” Alaine shrieked, pointing at the Doomguide with a trembling finger.

“I did no such thing,” Rhaine protested, shaking her head. “I wasn’t even there at the time of the attack.”

“I _saw_ you-”

“Did you?” Sand interrupted, eyebrow raised critically. “Or did you just _think_ it was her? There are magics that can make one look the part, you know.”

“Who was with me?” Rhaine asked, following a lead the wizard just happened to plant in her mind.

“You had about a dozen of your friends with you.”

“A _dozen_ , you say?” Sand inquired, exchanging knkowing looks with Rhaine. “Do go on.”

“Was there a tiefling girl? A dwarf? Anyone you saw with me when we went looking for Shandra here?” Rhaine continued.

“I… no. They were all human, I believe,” Alaine answered slowly.

Sand snorted. “Well, that certainly calls into question the legitimacy of your claim, does it not? Only four of Rhaine’s companions can call themselves human – and that includes Shandra. Far less than a dozen, I would say.”

“But,” Alaine protested, “you could have just hired others.”

“She could have, yes,” Sand replied with a wry smile, “but as your hesitation suggests, Alaine, why _would_ she?”

“And how did you manage to escape if they killed everyone else?” Rhaine inquired.

Alaine blinked. “I suppose they didn’t see me.”

“Or perhaps they _let_ you escape, hmm? So you could place the blame on someone?” Sand suggested.

“I... I don’t know. I just _don’t know_!”

At that, Alaine dissolved into frustrated tears, and Haeromos gestured for the guard to escort her back to her room.

“I’m sorry to have put you through this Alaine,” the steward apologized as he glared darkly at Rhaine.

It was then that Sand spun the Doomguide towards him. “Listen to me. If we can persuade her to do it, we can use her story of tears to sway the court in our favor.”

“Alaine’s not some tool, Sand!” Shandra hissed. “She just witnessed her entire village getting slaughtered. I don’t think-”

“ _Girl_ , either we use her or they do!” Sand snapped sharply. “So dispense with your convenient morality!”

“That’s enough,” Rhaine said quietly, directing them both towards the door. “Even if the Luskans do manage to acquire her as a supposed witness, we can trump her claims in the courtroom exactly as we have now. Let’s go talk with the other townsfolk and see what they know.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately, most of the townspeople seemed to know little to nothing about Ember other than mere hearsay, which was not enough to suffice as evidence. The threesome ambled through the streets with their heads bent against the freezing wind, dodging puddles. Out of the corner of her eye, Rhaine saw a cloaked woman working with a mortar and pestle at a stall near the inn, and something compelled her to approach.

“Certainly cold out,” the priestess began as she neared the stall. “I’m surprised you’d set up shop in this weather.”

The woman looked up. She was a half-elf like Rhaine, with dark eyes and black hair pulled back to keep it out of her way. Smiling grimly, she replied, “I’ve important work to do, milady. Oh, mind the wyrmsage!” She pointed at a bag hanging from a beam, close to Rhaine’s head.

“Ah, sorry,” Rhaine sidestepped to avoid it. “Wait, wyrmsage? That battles the necromantic arts… does Port Llast have an undead problem?”

“Not Port Llast, no,” the woman answered, continuing to pound the herbs in her mortar. “Ember. The bodies have been unburied for nearly a tenday. I’ve been trying to get people to see the need for someone to bury them and consecrate their graves, but no one wants to go anywhere near there after what happened.”

“Then, as a Kelemvorite, it would be my duty and honor to do so,” Rhaine said, inclining her head.

At that, the woman dropped her pestle with a loud _clink_ and looked up at her, dark eyes wide. “Kelemvorite? You… would you happen to know someone named Septimund, would you?”

Rhaine thought for a moment, but the name was unfamiliar. “I’m sorry, no. Who is he?”

“I… I was – and _am_ – in love with him,” she explained, a blush creeping into her cheeks. “He is a Doomguide like you, and he stayed here in Port Llast for a time. I never got up the nerve to tell him of my feelings. Maybe if I had, he wouldn’t have left…” she trailed, and was silent for a moment, her gaze distant. “Anyway, I thought by making it my objective to do Kelemvor’s work, he might return. Here,” she took down the bag of wyrmsage and handed it to Rhaine, “you know what to do with it – just sprinkle it over the bodies and that should allow any remaining vestiges of their spirits to depart to the afterlife.”

Rhaine nodded her understanding while Sand murmured, “An overly _dramatic_ description of the properties of wyrmsage, but she is right.”

“It shall be done,” the Doomguide said firmly, pocketing the bag. “And, before I go… I didn’t catch your name.”

The herbalist smiled gently. “Nya.”

“Squire Rhaine Alcinea of Neverwinter,” the priestess bowed, returning the smile. “At your service.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Shandra and Sand helped Rhaine accomplish Nya’s goal, burying and consecrating the dead of Ember. The work of a Doomguide was solemn indeed, but necessary, and Rhaine completed it as respectfully as possible, all the while chanting prayers for the fallen and blessing their graves.

It was a sad sight. Everyone – women, children, the elderly, even the town’s pets – had been slaughtered in cold blood. They appeared to have been killed by blades for the most part, horrible wounds stretching from their shoulders to their abdomens. Some had even been decapitated. As for their homes, there was nothing left save smoking timbers and ashes.

While the group was there, they made several interesting discoveries. Sand noted that one villager had been slain by a very rare and potent poison. Shandra uncovered the quartermaster’s log, which indicated that Luskan had halted shipments to Ember months before the attack – suggesting that they anticipated never having to deal with Ember via trade again. Finally, they located the boy seer, Marcus, hiding in the town’s well. He had indeed used Bishop’s dagger to survive, which he returned to Rhaine, its purpose fulfilled.

Beneath Ember, then, in a cave system inhabited by goblins, they found the remains of one of the attackers. His ring bore the symbol of Black Garius, the self-proclaimed “Master of the Fifth Tower” – a name and title Rhaine had heard before when dealing with brigands in the Docks of Neverwinter. Luskan was ruled by the Hosttower of the Arcane, of which there were only four real tower mages. Sand interpreted this self-imposed title as both great arrogance and ambition on Garius’s part, but he warned that it also indicated legitimate power. If he was the one who wanted Rhaine dead, then she was in significant danger, and he would most certainly need to be dealt with after the trial was over.

A network of tunnels ultimately led from the goblin caves to the nearby Duskwood, where they at last discovered that someone had indeed been using a dryad’s magical powder to disguise themselves as Rhaine. That someone turned out to be a man named Lorne Starling.

Bevil’s older brother.

\------------------------------------------------------

When they finally returned to the Flagon a few days later, Sand had some final preparations to make before the trial was to begin. He sent out letters to several people whom he wanted to testify on Rhaine’s behalf. As she waited for these people to arrive in Neverwinter, she thought about the trial and her chances of success. With the sheer amount of evidence they had obtained and the number of character witnesses they had sent for, it would be shocking if the court ruled against her.

But as Sand constantly reminded her, the trial itself would be a verbal duel. She would have to successfully rebut every argument of the prosecution, and her statements would need to reinforce her appearance as an upstanding citizen – without fail. There was a very real danger that her own words could be twisted and taken out of context, and she would have to make sure that didn’t happen. And as the day of the hearing loomed ever nearer, Rhaine couldn’t help but start to worry. She often sat alone in the Flagon, constantly contemplating the task ahead.

When she finally joined the others at dinner the night before the trial, Elanee placed her small hand over Rhaine’s and smiled reassuringly. “You have this under control. From what I’ve heard, Doomguides are excellent diplomats.”

“Yeah,” Bishop commented dryly. “If you can successfully convince someone to die quietly then this should be a piece of cake.”

“ _Bishop_ ,” Casavir growled a warning. “It is not wise to insult the ones who carry the power to ensure your place in the afterlife. And by slighting them, you inadvertently do the same to Kelemvor.”

“I can’t help but wonder,” Grobnar piped up. “If the Luskans lose… which I’m sure they will... what will they do then?”

Rhaine was silent for several moments before finally answering quietly.

“I’m sure it won’t take long to find out.”


	10. Trials and Tribulations

The throne room of Castle Never was full to bursting with people. On either side of the room, the audience seated themselves in the balconies. Everyone from nobles to commoners was in attendance, including all of Rhaine’s companions, who attended for support. On the floor of the court, two small podiums had been placed on either side of a long blue carpet. At one podium Rhaine and Sand stood, with their character witnesses seated behind them; opposite them stood Torio as prosecutor. Rhaine had eschewed her sword and her cloak, but remained clad in the silver armor of her temple. The ambassador still wore her garish costume.

Suddenly, a contingent of royal guards swept into the room, garbed in their black and gold armor and wielding fearsome halberds. One of them raised his voice above the din of the audience to call their attention.

“Lord Nasher Alagondar, ruler of Neverwinter, and Reverend Judge Oleff Uskar, Lord Justiciar of Tyr!”

Everyone respectfully stood and fell silent as the men in question entered. Nasher strode to his throne and quickly seated himself there, Sir Nevalle taking his place at Nasher’s right hand. The aging Judge Oleff, in flowing blue and gold robes, stood to his left. Once they had positioned themselves at the head of the throne room, the audience sat once again. All the while, Rhaine cast her thoughts to Kelemvor, taking in a shaking breath and letting it back out slowly to calm herself.

_Please turn your gaze to me, my lord. Grant strength to my words and courage to my heart…_

Oleff then began the trial at last, his voice loud and clear and ringing in the hall. “We are gathered here to determine the truth behind the slaughter of the small village of Ember, its people killed to the last man, woman, and child. Is the accused and her defense here?”

Sand bowed deeply. “We are here and eager to bring the truth of this matter into Tyr’s sight, Reverend Judge.”

“Is the accuser here?”

Torio bowed as well. “I speak for those the accused killed at Ember, and I am here to ensure that justice is carried out this day.”

“Reverend Judge, I believe the Ambassador speaks out of turn. No guilty verdict has been reached,” Rhaine interjected, staring daggers through Torio even as her heart pounded with adrenaline. It felt just like she was in combat, simply on a different sort of battlefield…

“The accused speaks correctly, Ambassador,” Oleff replied, raising a white eyebrow at Torio. “The trial has yet to begin and already you deign to pronounce judgment.”

“Any more slips of the tongue, Torio, and the court _will not_ look kindly upon it,” Nasher added pointedly, his own expression a severe one.

The Luskan ambassador immediately backpedaled. “My apologies, Reverend Judge. My conviction got the better of me.”

At that, Sand leaned close to Rhaine, smiling slyly. “Well done.”

“First,” Judge Oleff continued, gesturing to a table next to him which bore all of the physical evidence that they had gathered, “we will present the evidence that the accused has brought in her defense, and we shall hold it aloft for the eye of Tyr to see…”

Sand then abruptly took Rhaine by the hand and pulled her down closer to him, whispering in her ear, “It may take them a while to present our evidence, bless it, and all of the ritual nonsense. So, if there’s any questions, now’s the time to ask.”

She sighed a breath tremulous with tension. “Do you have any advice?”

“Torio is an arrogant creature,” Sand answered, eyes flicking sideways at the ambassador across from them, “but this court is her theater… her arena. She has had years of perfecting treachery and twisting words. She knows as well as we do that when it comes right down to it, it is not the evidence but the _drama_ that wins the day. Do not forget: the rabble is here to see someone hang. If you cannot convince them that you have been wronged and grievously so, it is an uphill battle you fight.”

Rhaine’s face was grim. “So, any specific strategies that might work?”

Sand let out a long breath through his nose as he thought. “It may be somewhat… _unorthodox_ … but playing upon the historical hatred between Luskan and Neverwinter may be in your favor. Yet, at the same time, they could perceive it as evidence that your supposed attack on Ember was an attempt to start another war, which _no one_ in Neverwinter wants. Do _not_ attempt a diplomatic duel with Torio unless you are sure you will come out on top. And do _not_ try to intimidate her or bluff her unless you are equally certain, or you _will_ be bound for the gallows.”

“Alright,” Rhaine said with a nod of understanding, swallowing heavily. “I’ll heed your advice.”

Sand smiled, squeezing her hand before he let it go. “Thank you. I occasionally have a good idea, you know.”

“And Sand,” she added, offering him a genuine smile of affection. “Thank you for everything… for helping me and representing me here. I truly appreciate it.”

Sand’s eyebrows rose in surprise at her words, and a pink blush crept into his pale cheeks. “Oh! Well… you’re _welcome_. But really, there’s no need for thanks.” He grinned. “This is a labor of love, I assure you.”

They returned their attention to the court, then, and the Reverend Judge had just finished presenting the last piece of evidence – the magical powder – declaring, “That is the evidence before us.”

The crowd dissolved into disgruntled murmurs as they looked one to the other and shook their heads. Sand’s grin widened. “Perfect. Look at their faces. That little harpy… let’s see her fly out of _this_ snare.”

“The accuser may now call witnesses to the stand,” Oleff announced, nodding to the ambassador.

Torio waved her hand in the air dismissively. “These pieces of… _evidence_ , if that is truly what they are, can easily be explained away. They may be extensive, but my witnesses will tell a different story.”

“You are debating upon the facts presented by the evidence, Ambassador?” Rhaine asked, hoping to goad Torio into ruining her own prosecution with her defensiveness.

“Of course!” Torio exclaimed. “We are here to determine the truth… _everything_ is in question.”

The Doomguide arched her brow. “Everything? Would that include my presumed guilt, Ambassador? You seem certain of that. Is _it_ in question as well?”

“Of course not, and I aim to _prove it_!”

“Then _am_ I guilty or _aren’t_ I, in your eyes? I’m finding it difficult to find the _truth_ in your wordplay.”

“I would advise you hold your tongue!” Torio snapped, slamming her fist on her podium, her eyes flashing dangerously. The members of the court began murmuring to themselves once more, and Nasher exchanged glances with Oleff.

Sand’s eyes widened as Rhaine merely smiled, and the elven wizard whistled. “My, she has a temper!”

“I understand that you wish to delay my witnesses… it is your life that is on the line, after all,” Torio remarked at length with a snide grin before addressing the court directly. “And I do have a most important first witness. You see, the village of Ember was _not_ slaughtered to the last man, woman, and child.”

“Alaine,” Rhaine whispered, and Sand nodded grimly. They had anticipated this.

“I call Alaine, last living resident of Ember, to speak on what she saw that day.”

Alaine got up from a bench behind the Ambassador and approached the podium slowly, tentatively. Torio placed a gloved hand on her shoulder and smiled gently. “Do not be afraid, Alaine, you are safe here. You saw what happened, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Alaine replied quietly.

“And the accused. She killed your fellow villagers, did she not?”

“She did,” Alaine nodded, gaze fixed on the floor. “She slew them all… they had no weapons… nothing…”

“Alaine, _no_!” Shandra hissed behind Rhaine, tearing at her hair in sheer frustration.

“Can you say anything?” Rhaine whispered, glancing back over her shoulder.

Shandra huffed. “If you get the chance, ask her if I would ever travel with someone who would do something like that!”

“Reverend Judge!” Rhaine interjected, calling to Oleff. “Will I have a chance to refute these claims?”

“Oh, come now,” Torio gloated. “There’s no sense in denying it. You are caught like a rat in a trap.”

“It will be allowed,” Oleff replied, inclining his head. “All sides of an issue must be heard. For now, Ambassador…?”

She smiled sweetly. “What more proof is needed? We have a witness… one who saw the accused perform the deed. Perhaps we should move on to the verdict now? I, of course, have no more questions, Reverend Judge.”

“Alaine,” Rhaine began, drawing the survivor’s attention to her with a firm but coaxing tone. “This woman behind me – Shandra – you know her, yes?”

“You know I do,” Alaine nodded in affirmation. “She would often stop by Ember on her way to Port Llast during trade season.”

“Did you know she has been traveling with me?”

Alaine looked a little surprised at the suggestion. “No, I didn’t.”

“Reverend Judge, I fail to see where this line of questioning is headed,” Torio interrupted.

“Alaine, listen to me!” Shandra shouted behind Rhaine, unable to keep her silence any longer. “Something’s wrong here! We weren’t even anywhere near Ember when the attack happened-”

“ _Objection_! The accused is only allowed one counsel and he-”

“Oh, Torio,” Sand smirked. “I freely forfeit my position when Shandra is speaking.”

“Alaine, are you _sure_ it was us?” Shandra asked her friend.

At that, she hesitated, and it was just the reprieve they needed. “I… I think so. Or at least, someone who looked very much like the accused…”

“ _What?!_ ” Torio spluttered.

“You heard her,” Rhaine offered the ambassador her own wicked grin in response. “It seems to me she just retracted her statements. I have no more questions, but I’m sure _you_ do, Ambassador.”

“Forget this!” Torio spat angrily, physically shoving Alaine away from the podium. “Obviously the witness is too distraught to give her testimony properly… so, let’s choose someone who isn’t affected by Ember at all. I call Shandra Jerro to the stand.”

“Excuse me?” Shandra’s eyes went wide, and she glanced worriedly to Rhaine.

“Go ahead,” the Doomguide said, gesturing to the podium. “Speak to Torio directly if you want.”

“I’d rather _spit_ on her,” Shandra muttered, reluctantly stepping forward.

“Come, Shandra, this is a court of law… you may speak freely here,” Torio beckoned the farmer.

“About what?” Shandra retorted, tossing her hands skywards in frustration when she reached the podium. “About these false accusations?”

“No,” Torio mused thoughtfully. “I am more concerned about what you think of the accused’s actions. Has she done anything on the same level of destruction as what happened at Ember?”

“I really don’t think-”

“Answer the question.”

“No,” Shandra replied flatly.

“Not even your _home_?” Torio asked, brow arched.

“ _Dammit_!” Sand cursed.

“Yes, but that wasn’t-”

“Next time, I want you to answer my question instead of dodging me with objections and exceptions, Shandra,” Torio continued, leaning forward on her own podium, “because you see, what I want to know is what you think of the accused… what you _really_ think. Is she someone who might do such a thing?”

“No!” Shandra repeated, her brow furrowed in obvious rage. “She is a good and honorable woman. And to see her slandered like this makes me _angry_ at the injustice of it all!”

“Angry enough to kill? To slay anyone who stands in the accused’s way? I see,” Torio replied, smirking.

“By the gods, if you are accusing _me_ of what happened at Ember-”

“I make no such accusations,” Torio stated as Shandra stormed back to her seat shaking her head, “but trouble does follow the accused, oddly enough… which brings me to one last witness I wish to bring forth.”

The ambassador locked eyes with Rhaine. “ _You_.”

Infuriated by the way the trial had gone thus far and no longer afraid of the consequences, Rhaine met her gaze fearlessly. “Then ask what you will, and I shall answer with truth.”

“My question is a simple one: why did you kill the people of Ember?”

“That is a good question, Ambassador,” Rhaine quipped. “Why would anyone wish to attack Ember?”

“That was my question to you.”

“I see no reason,” Rhaine remarked. “It is not a trading stop, there is nothing of value there, and not even a large enough population to perceive as a threat.”

“So simple slaughter is your answer!” Torio exclaimed dramatically. “Wiped off of the map for entertainment!”

“Or much-needed target practice,” Rhaine countered, brow quirked upwards.

“Are you suggesting that this was militarily motivated?” Torio spared a glance to Nasher.

“You tell me, Ambassador. After all, I was the one who routed Luskan brigands in the Docks.”

“You lie!” Torio barked. “Luskan hasn’t set foot in Neverwinter prior to the events of Ember! After which you were conveniently promoted to the rank of Squire… as a reward, perhaps?”

“The Greycloak records of Luskan thugs whom _I_ rounded up in _this city_ are there for all to see,” Rhaine continued, her voice rising. “You infiltrated Neverwinter in hopes of reaching one target… _me_! When you failed, you destroyed Ember and then framed me for the murders of the villagers. I was a mere commoner then, so you thought it an easy matter of accusing me of a crime and then carting me off to Luskan to be put to death according to low justice. But you didn’t bank on the people of Neverwinter… on Lord Nasher himself… protecting a loyal servant of the city from Luskan slander! And now here you stand, throwing more lies in the face of hard evidence and intimidating so-called witnesses in a last ditch effort to avoid _yet another failure_!”

The courtroom erupted in a standing ovation, cheers and whistles very nearly deafening. The ambassador herself shook with barely-contained anger. “No more questions, Reverend Judge.”

Oleff hammered his gavel for silence, and Sand grinned widely as the spectators settled down and began to seat themselves once more. “That was remarkable. You know, I do think I’m learning a thing or two.”

“The accused may now call her witnesses to the stand.”

Upon Oleff’s signal, then, Sand bowed again. “Lord Nasher, Reverend Judge, and good citizens of Neverwinter. For our first witness, the defense would like to call Callum of the Neverwinter Nine, fresh from his victory over the orc tribes of Old Owl Well.”

The surly dwarf got up from the bench behind Rhaine and approached the podium, clad in his Neverwinter Nine uniform instead of his usual armor. He offered a small salute to Nevalle, who responded in kind, before facing Sand.

“You know the accused well, do you not Lord Callum?” the wizard inquired, gesturing to Rhaine.

“I do,” Callum nodded, smiling briefly at her. “She was a great help in defeating the orcs of the Well. The soldiers of Neverwinter and the realm itself owe her a deep debt of gratitude. Were it not for her service, Old Owl Well would be lost to us now, along with vital trade relations with Waterdeep. It is a travesty that these charges have been levied against her.”

“Thank you for your testimony, Lord Callum,” Sand replied simply.

“Callum,” Torio began, turning the dwarf’s attention to her. “You say that this situation is a ‘travesty.’ Do you believe that this trial has been conducted out of Luskan animosity?”

“Luskan has much to gain by bringing down heroes of Neverwinter,” Callum answered solemly. “Do I have evidence that it is a Luskan plot? No. But would I put it past Luskan? That is also a no.”

“Did you know that the accused’s counsel was originally from the Hosttower of the Arcane, before he fled to Neverwinter?”

“That _banshee_!” Sand hissed, and Rhaine’s brows rose.

“No,” Callum answered, surprise evident in his tone as he glanced back at Sand. “I did not.”

“We are not here to debate on either where my counsel came from or the origin of these charges. We are here to uncover what happened at Ember. That is all,” Rhaine stated.

“Agreed,” Callum added with a nod. “I misspoke by implying Luskan involvement in this situation. But I stand by my sentiments that Luskan would have everything to gain from it.”

“No more questions,” Torio sniffed, waving the dwarf away as if he were a servant and not a knight.

“The accused would now like to call Nya, resident herbalist of Port Llast,” Sand announced once Callum sat. As the half-elf gracefully made her way to the podium, the wizard continued, “Nya, you have seen the accused before, yes?”

“I have,” she smiled at Rhaine, inclining her head politely. “Well met to you again.”

“Nya, tell us what you were involved with concerning Ember.”

“I had come to Port Llast to aid in the growth and medical defense of the city,” Nya began, “although my duties occupied almost all of my time, I had heard of the disaster in Ember and wished to help. I learned from a…former acquaintance of mine…a follower of Kelemvor, that after such violent deaths it was possible the villagers could arise as undead. I could convince no one to listen or aid me until the good Squire came.”

“And what did I do, Nya?” Rhaine inquired.

“She agreed to lay the dead to eternal rest.”

“What nonsense is this?” Torio snapped impatiently. “To hide the evidence perhaps? This is meaningless.”

“ _Meaningless_?!” Rhaine exclaimed indignantly, her voice ringing off of the walls of the courtroom. Nya rushed back to her seat, and there was a soft “Oh, dear!” from Sand. No doubt both realized the ambassador had unknowingly stepped in it now…

“Take care where you cast your barbs, Torio!” Rhaine snarled. “I am a Doomguide of Kelemvor, and your words are not only offensive to my faith but also disrespectful to the dead of Ember!”

At that, the crowd’s faces bore expressions of shock and disapproval, jaws dropping all around. Torio once again was forced to retreat to save face. “I apologize. I meant no disrespect, of course.”

“Torio,” Nasher warned darkly, “you are close to being thrown _out_ of this courtroom. As for the defense, resume your call for witnesses.”

“More witnesses, yes,” Sand continued. “Unknown to all, there was yet another survivor of the attack on Ember.”

Gasps rippled through the audience, and Torio choked. “ _What_?”

“A poor frightened boy who had to hide in the depths of a cold, dark, and dank well! I call forth Marcus, a boy who has the gift of foresight, and who saw the _true_ attacker of Ember!”

The crowd’s chatter reached a fever pitch when the small boy slid from the bench and walked to the stand. Oleff hammered his gavel once more to silence the audience while Sand began his questioning. “Marcus, tell us what you saw with your gift.”

The boy’s voice was nearly ethereal as his eyes took on a distant cast. “It was a huge man who killed the villagers. I don’t see how you could confuse him for her. They look nothing alike. Perhaps he used a magical disguise, but things like that don’t fool me.”

“What is this, some sort of joke?” Torio quipped. “If this boy is a seer, then let us test his power. Marcus? What do I hold in my left hand?”

The boy turned to her and was silent for a long moment before finally speaking. “Your left hand holds an iron ring: the ring of Garius, Master of the Fifth Tower. When you touch it, you are reminded of his anger when one fails him… it is more a chain than a piece of jewelry. And moreover, it reminds you of-”

“ _Enough_!” Torio shouted, visibly shaking. “It is a ring, yes. But nothing more! Now, are you done holding off a verdict, or are you at last ready to face justice?”

“One more witness,” Sand answered with a smirk, “and we will close the curtain on this stage. Shandra?”

“Sand, no!” Shandra shook her head.

“Please, Shandra. This is for Ember,” Rhaine pressed.

Shandra sighed, approaching the stand again. “All right. Ask your questions.”

“Shandra, can you vouch for the character of Squire Rhaine Alcinea?” Sand asked, leaving the question open for almost any answer.

The former farmgirl met the Doomguide’s eyes and smiled. “I can. Look, don’t get me wrong, trouble seems to follow at her heels. But it’s how she deals with these troubles that makes people want to stand by her and stick with her no matter what. She keeps trying to make things right, even when things are at their worst.”

There was a moment of silence, heavy and pervasive, before Sand concluded, “I think that says it all, Shandra. Thank you.”

As she made her way back to her seat, casting Rhaine a reassuring smile as she passed by, Oleff nodded. “The accuser and accused have presented their witnesses. Now, all that remains is a verdict. Lord Nasher?”

The Lord of Neverwinter looked between Rhaine and Torio, silent for many moments. Then, finally, he took a deep breath. “The case before me was a difficult one. But it seems we now know the identity of Ember’s attackers. Nevalle?”

“Yes, milord?”

There was a long pause, and Rhaine could feel her heart pounding in her throat and her cheeks. She subconsciously slipped her hand into Sand’s, and he squeezed it gently.

Then, Nasher continued at last, casting his hard gaze to Torio. “I want the Ambassador, her retinue, and any remaining members of Luskan’s Arcane Brotherhood outside the city gates by nightfall.”

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, and Torio’s mouth dropped open, “ _What_? This is no verdict… to think the Brotherhood truly responsible!”

“You brought this case to _my_ court, now you debate _my_ verdict?” Nasher snapped, eyes flashing. “I would watch where you point a sword when you draw it, Ambassador.”

“I demand a trial by combat!” She yelled overtop the crowd’s noise, silencing them as abruptly as Oleff’s gavel. Rhaine’s eyes widened.

“I have had enough of your games, Torio,” Nasher answered with a growl, fist clenching atop the armrest of his throne, “and I will indulge you no longer.”

“And can Lord Nasher deny me my sacred right of appeal, Reverend Judge?” Torio inquired, turning to Oleff. “Can he place himself above Tyr?”

“He…” the Reverend hesitated, closing his eyes, and he reluctantly shook his head. “He cannot. The Ambassador of Luskan is entitled to an appeal as she describes.”

Rhaine’s heart and stomach both plummeted. The crowd was furious, cursing and throwing things across the court at Torio, nearly hitting Alaine in the process until the guards intervened.

“I was hoping she didn’t know about that,” Sand sighed heavily.

Oleff slammed his gavel to bring order and continued loudly. “Both parties are required by law to undergo the Rite of Tyr in a night of sacred purification. On the following day, the trial will commence on the tourney grounds.”

“So be it,” Nasher hissed, turning his attention to Rhaine. “Prepare yourself and be ready, Squire. Or choose a champion to fight for you – because, by the gods, we have not come all this way to have justice denied to us in this final hour!”

“So,” Nevalle added, crossing his arms, a hard expression on his countenance. “It seems this will be decided in blood. But who will fight for _you_ , Ambassador? This is not a duel of words… though I would like to see you try to match your tongue against the blade of a soldier of Neverwinter.”

“You are correct, Sir Nevalle,” Torio simpered sickeningly. “I cannot fight for the people of Ember… is there no one who would champion their cause with sword or spell?”

There was dead silence for many minutes. The audience simply glared at her.

“I will.”

A collective gasp as they searched for the source of the voice – of the person who dared defend Luskan’s actions. A gigantic man, clothed in wolf skins and leathers, his bald head tattooed in wild patterns, entered the throne room. He had to duck to get through the doorway, and he towered over the royal guards. “I have heard these lies and will answer them with my blade, in Luskan’s name!”

“That’s him,” Marcus whispered. “That’s the one who killed them all.”

Rhaine looked upon Luskan’s champion and recognized beneath the ink and the angry expression a face she had not seen in many, many years.

The face of Lorne Starling.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Are you ready to begin the Rite of Tyr?”

Hours later, Rhaine stood alone before Prior Hlam in the Temple of Tyr. After an evening’s worth of listening to angry arguing amongst her companions, she was ready to get the Rite over with. She now knew without a doubt who the true killer of Ember was, and she was eager to send him to the City of Judgment.

“Hang on just a minute, this Rite can wait! I haven’t had my say, yet!”

Khelgar burst into the temple, red-faced with both rage and ale. When he reached her side, Rhaine placed her hands on his shoulders and squeezed. “Khelgar, calm down. Why are you so angry?”

He shouted at her, spittle flying. “Because this isn’t fair, that’s why! There’s no honor in that little viper bringing a bear out of nowhere to fight you! He’s not even _worthy_ of you… of the ground you walk on!”

“You feel it is unjust,” Hlam supplied simply.

“You’re damned right it’s unjust!” Khelgar roared, smacking his fist into his palm. “We know how to solve problems – by hitting them until they break! Ha! And that’s why they’re doing this now! Because they’re afraid to face all of us at once! And by the gods, _I want to fight him_! I’ll show him real justice!”

“You _are_ allowed to choose a champion,” Hlam explained. “You will still undergo the Rite, but in the morning it will be this one who faces Lorne in your stead.”

Shaking her head, Rhaine smiled gently at Khelgar. “I thank you for your offer, and I am truly touched by it. But this is something that I have to do myself. I hope you can understand.”

“Oh… well… all right,” the dwarf stammered, the wind having abruptly been taken out of his sails. “Just… be careful. He’s twice your size and you’re a fragile thing. He… he could break you really easily, so… just be careful.”

Rhaine swallowed back tears. “I will, my friend. I promise.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine had been sitting alone, staring at the statue of Tyr for about an hour, Prior Hlam having left her in peace. It reminded her of a similar vigil she had held not so long ago, only this time she was allowed visitors. During this time, she cast her prayers to Tyr and Kelemvor both, promising them that she would bring Lorne to justice…

Then, suddenly, a movement at the door broke her out of her thoughts. Sand. He approached with a small leather bag in hand and grinned almost devilishly as he neared. “Heard Khelgar’s ranting from a few blocks down – actually helped me find the place. I do hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“No, not at all,” Rhaine replied, patting the cushion beside her.

He shook his head, declining her silent offer. “I just dropped by to offer you a few concoctions I whipped up this evening in case Lorne decided to paralyze you, reduce you to ash, or just give you several gaping chest wounds,” he said, proffering the bag to her.

She took it. Inside were several small vials of what she knew were restorative potions. Smiling, she looked up at the wizard. “Thank you.”

“Ah, yes, well.” Sand rubbed his neck awkwardly. “I’ll just leave you to it.”

The elf began moving towards the door, then hesitated and turned back around. “But, our friend, Torio. We must have pushed her hard for her to resort to something so desperate. I think she feels caught in a trap… the kind of feeling one gets when they realize they have immersed themselves in an ill-conceived plan – as I once felt. Something to think about if she is at our mercy later, yes?”

He offered her one last smile, and it was one of genuine fondness. “Good night.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine had been thinking about what Sand had said for another hour, when she heard footsteps again. This time Casavir had poked his head in the doorway. He was not clad in armor as he usually was, but in a sharp blue tunic, with a black doublet, breeches, and boots.

“Forgive me,” he said with a slight bow. “I did not mean to disturb the Rites.”

Rhaine smiled in greeting. “You are not disturbing me, Casavir. What is it?”

The paladin sighed heavily, approaching carefully and seating himself on the cushion beside her. “I was troubled. I thought I would seek you out and see if I could put those troubles to rest. I know something of knightly combat, and I was wondering if you did as well.”

“I am aware of a few things,” Rhaine answered slowly. “But I’d like to hear what you know.”

“Do not yield to Lorne,” he said firmly, “for he will not accept it. If there is a chance to keep fighting, do so. And there is no dishonor in using spells to keep him at bay. His strong suit is in close combat – do not balk at doing what you can to keep him at arm’s length, simply because you feel you must duel him in melee.”

She nodded her understanding and was quiet for a time, returning her gaze to the statue of Tyr. The paladin respected her silence for a while, and then spoke again, this time extending a small, engraved bottle towards her. “This is a ritual flask someone gave me once. I need it no longer. It will both heal you and bestow a blessing upon you. Should you use it in the fight tomorrow, it will have served its purpose.”

“Thank you. I will put it to good use, I am sure,” she replied gratefully, taking the flask and tucking it into her belt.

Casavir simply inclined his head to her at that and looked up at the statue himself, seemingly studying its features for a long while before commenting, “It must feel slightly uncomfortable… a priestess in a temple of a different faith.”

She smiled again. “Not really. Tyr and Kelemvor, you could say, are brothers of a sort. One champions justice for the living… the other for the dead.”

He laughed a little in response. “I suppose you could look at it that way, yes.”

Then, after a moment, he sighed again. “Rhaine, I know I’ve told you why I was in Old Owl Well… because I felt that I needed to be there to make a difference. But I haven’t told you that I also betrayed my oath to Neverwinter.”

“What?” The Doomguide’s brow furrowed at his admission. “Why?”

The paladin’s gaze fell to the floor. “I had a… disagreement, with both my peers and those above me in my order. And so I left – turned my back on the city and struck out to seek my own sort of justice. However, I cannot help but feel that in doing so, I turned my back on Tyr as well.”

She cocked her head at him. “Why would you think that? Justice is justice, be it Neverwintan or your own. Just because you left Tyr’s city does not mean you left Tyr’s side.”

Casavir went silent for a long moment, then, seemingly absorbing her words. When he looked at her again, she saw a deep sorrow in his eyes, something she had never seen before. “Rhaine, I need to you to tell me something. I know that Doomguides are well-acquainted with what the gods would call the False. Would you believe that I was one of them?”

Her eyes widened in sheer shock that he would ask such a thing. The False were the souls of those who betrayed their gods… or those who were rejected by them. They were the damned souls that Kelemvor ruled over in the City of Judgment, because their gods would never come for them in the afterlife. Casavir obviously felt enough doubt that he was afraid of such a Judgment - but it was doubt in himself, not in Tyr. She could never be certain of what was truly in the paladin’s heart and soul, nor of how the gods saw him. But it was obvious that he needed a piece of her mind.

“Casavir, listen to me,” she at last said firmly, grasping his forearm to sieze his attention. “If you are False then we are all doomed. I can _see_ your loyalty to Tyr and the justice that he represents. I do not think for one minute that you ever turned your back on him, nor he you. I am sure that Kelemvor will judge you Faithful and that you will spend your eternity dwelling within the House of the Triad. For that is what you deserve, my good friend.”

His sky-blue gaze held hers for several minutes, before he finally looked away somewhat bashfully. “I thank you for your words, my lady. They do help.”

After another minute, he rose, brushing himself off. “Before I leave you, Rhaine, know that if you do not wish to face Lorne, I would gladly go in your stead as your champion.”

The Doomguide smiled once more but shook her head, giving him the same answer as she had Khelgar. “I am grateful for the offer, Casavir. But this is something that I must do myself.”

He nodded in understanding, mirroring her smile briefly. “I understand, and I admire your conviction. May the people of Ember guide your blade, and may Tyr and Kelemvor be at your side tomorrow. I shall offer my prayers to both this night.”

And then he was gone.

\------------------------------------------------------

There were no more visitors until dawn. Very early in the morning, Sir Nevalle and Sir Grayson finally entered the side chapel, the signal that the trial was looming.

“It is time,” Nevalle greeted her grimly, helping Rhaine up from the floor. “Lorne and Torio wait for us on the field.”

“You should savor this moment,” Sir Grayson added proudly. “The opportunity to lay down your life for your homeland.”

“Lord Nasher wished me to convey to you the importance of this battle, both for you and for Neverwinter,” Nevalle continued. “Luskan has been a thorn in the city’s side for too long, and this trial is a means by which their presence can be eliminated. He has promised you land for your service, and a noble title, should you so wish it. There are dark times ahead, and Lord Nasher needs every loyal hand at his side.”

The Doomguide’s lips pressed together in determination. “I shall bring Lorne to justice. Luskan will answer for its crimes.”

Nevalle inclined his head to her, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I can ask for no more. Come, then. The tourney grounds await.”

\------------------------------------------------------

The warm, golden light of the dawn illuminated the tourney grounds in a soft amber glow. Rhaine stood at the top of a dirt walk that led into the arena pit, in which she would be facing Lorne. Shandra was there with her, along with Grobnar, waiting for the signal to meet her opponent on the field.

The Doomguide had tucked Sand’s potions and Casavir’s flask into her belt, along with a few extra knives in case Lorne managed to knock _Touch of Death_ out of her hands. Her temple cloak was fastened about her neck instead of her Watch cloak, now, proudly displaying Kelemvor’s golden scales of justice. In addition to her full suit of steel armor, she also wore a matching visored helm, its plume of black and gold feathers, supplied by Sir Grayson. Rhaine hated helmets, and she normally would not have worn one, as they restricted her field of vision too much to suit her. But she understood her knight’s concern: one clean swipe from Lorne’s blade, and it would all be over.

Shandra sighed loudly. “Are you sure about this? It’s not too late to choose someone else to fight for you, you know. Not like I don’t have faith in you or anything, but-”

“Oh, Shandra! You changed your mind? I’m glad!” Grobnar exclaimed. “Especially after all that crying last night and that phrase you kept saying… what was it again? Oh. ‘I don’t see how she could possibly’…”

“ _Grobnar_!”

“Woops! Sorry!” the gnomish bard shook his head fiercely. “Tactless… _again_. Did I say that?”

Shandra then suddenly flipped Rhaine’s visor open and twisted the Doomguide towards her to look her in the face. “Look, it’s not like I don’t want that Luskan to pay for his crimes. I do. But that man is built like a _mountain_. And if you lose… well, he’s beyond our reach.”

Rhaine flicked her visor back down with a sharp _snap_ of metal. “I won’t lose. Lorne _will_ be brought to justice. I will make sure of it.”

The farmer threw her hands in the air. “ _Gods_ , you’re frustrating! Fine! Go ahead and see if you can move all of Faerûn while you’re at it.”

After a few moments Grobnar began humming a cheery tune, but gradually stopped. “I wish I could think of a song… but words fail me.”

A trumpet blast then echoed over the grounds, signaling the challengers to approach.

_Kelemvor be with me._

Taking a deep and steadying breath, Rhaine made her way down the trench and into the arena pit. The Greycloaks then lit a fire across the path behind her, so there was no chance of retreat. Across from her, Lorne descended as well, the flames behind him backlighting his gigantic form. They met in the middle of the field and then turned to face Lord Nasher, who sat in the royal balcony with Sir Nevalle, Sir Grayson, Judge Oleff, and Torio. It was then Rhaine took the opportunity to look around a bit. The stands were absolutely overflowing with spectators. Her companions, Captain Brelaina, and Marshal Cormick all occupied the front row.

“Is the accuser or her champion here?” Nasher inquired, the stands falling silent at the sound of his voice.

“We are here,” Lorne growled in answer.

“Is the accused or her champion here?”

“Here and ready, Lord Nasher,” Rhaine replied.

Oleff approached the edge of the balcony. “What happens here in the field today will resolve the crime of the ruin of the village of Ember and the murder of its people. Ambassador Torio Claven has accused a soldier of Neverwinter and has called for a trial by combat to decide the matter. Acting on her behalf is her champion, Lorne, who will fight in her place. We call upon Tyr to help us settle this – his judgment shall come through blade and resolve. Combatants! Ready yourselves.”

“May Kelemvor have mercy on your soul, Lorne, for I will not,” Rhaine remarked darkly. He merely growled again in response.

With that, they turned away from each other, pacing towards the opposite ends of the field and drawing their weapons along the way. The silence that had fallen over the field was deafening, the sound of the blades ringing from their scabbards echoing around the stone walls of the arena.

And then, the trumpets blasted once more, and the audience burst into cheers and whistles. Rhaine whirled back around, concentrating on her spell as she moved and unleashing her magic just as she faced Lorne directly. Green tendrils of energy sprang from her fingertips and wound themselves around Lorne like ropes until he was halted mid-stride, his serrated great falchion frozen high in the air. He could only breathe… not even his eyes could move in their sockets.

The crowd roared.

Rhaine strode up to the paralyzed man, then, and circled him like a hawk. “How does it feel to be helpless, Lorne? Like those people you killed in Ember?”

She called upon more power, this time channeling it into a column of flame that fell from the sky above, engulfing the man in a crackling inferno. Her holding charm released, and she watched as he howled in desperation and pain, throwing himself on the ground and rolling to extinguish the flames from his hide armor. The smell of singed fur filled the air as he launched himself up again and snarled at her, severe burns now evident on his rage-filled countenance.

“I will _kill_ you!” he roared, charging at her with impossible speed.

His falchion came down faster than she had anticipated. She barely managed to dodge in time, the blade clipping her left pauldron and ripping the armor from her shoulder from the sheer strength of the strike, very nearly sending her to her knees. The crowd gasped as the piece fell to the ground, but she ignored it, _Touch of Death_ whistling as she made a riposte attack on Lorne’s own shoulder, drawing blood as the tip pierced the soft leathers.

In a move she hadn’t anticipated, he then swung the falchion horizontally into her side, the jagged edge tearing at the small gap of leather between her breastplate and backplate. The wicked blade bit at her flesh, and she could feel blood trickling beneath the armor as she staggered backwards from the force of the impact. Lorne then rushed her, poised for an overhand strike, but she cast a sonic burst that sent him flying straight into the arena wall, stunned.

As he scrambled to reorient himself, she tore Casavir’s flask from her belt, opening her visor and downing the contents in one fluid movement. She didn’t know how bad the wound really was, but she couldn’t take any chances with blood loss.

_Speaking of which…_

Rhaine tossed the bottle aside and slammed her visor back down, making an attack on Lorne similar to the one she had used on Zeeaire – utilizing sheer force of will to tear lesions into her opponent’s flesh. Her magic jerked him out of his sonic-induced daze and made him claw at himself as he tried to fight whatever force was cutting him open in a dozen places, a scarlet glow engulfing him. Blood seeped from under the joints of his armor as he leapt to his feet in a rage and rushed her again.

This time, she was ready, _Touch of Death_ meeting his blade edge to edge and staggering _him_ with its force.

They went head to head, blade clashing against blade with a startling fury. She whirled to the side unexpectedly, causing him to overbalance, and as he stumbled forward, _Touch of Death_ opened a deep gash in his abdomen. It wouldn’t be long, now. Lorne obviously had no way to heal – there were neither potions nor scrolls at his side – and it would only get increasingly worse for him.

The Doomguide let her opponent wear himself out, wasting his strength on killing blows that never met their target. He continued to bleed profusely from the wounds she had given him, one of her simplest spells having done the most damage.

“Stay still, damn you!” he yelled in frustration.

But she continued to dance around him, always remaining just out of reach, circling him at a dizzying pace. Finally, he collapsed to his knees, dropping his falchion into the dirt and bowing his head in defeat.

“You…” he gasped. “You think this is over? It will _never_ be over! Garius will still hunt you down like the dog you are, and you will not be able to stop him. So go ahead and kill me if you have the guts.”

“I’m not killing someone who refuses to fight back,” Rhaine answered, _Touch of Death_ still poised at his throat.

He laughed darkly. “The people of Ember didn’t fight back… and I enjoyed killing every single one of them. Even with your victory here, you have changed nothing. They are still dead.”

“And that is why I will see that you join them,” Rhaine shouted, rage fueling her words. “I, myself, will send you to your Judgment, and you will answer for _every single death that you caused_! Now get up! Get up and fight you worthless Starling coward!”

Something in her taunting words must have hit home, because Lorne snatched his discarded falchion and leapt to his feet, bringing the weapon down towards her in a mighty overhanded blow. But he had completely exposed his chest to her ready blade, and she slammed herself into him with all her strength, burying _Touch of Death_ up to its hilt in his heart. Even as the falchion suddenly dropped from his hands, a stuttering gasp escaping him, nothing but hatred burned in his eyes.

As the life quickly left them, Rhaine opened her visor and hissed, “May you know the fear that you gave the people of Ember, you bastard.”

And at that, she shoved his body off of her sword with her foot, the blade of _Touch of Death_ now crimson with Lorne Starling’s blood. Her foe collapsed in the dirt, lifeless, and when he did not move again, Rhaine looked up at Lord Nasher, panting as she caught her breath.

He nodded grimly. “Justice has been done!”

The audience erupted in applause, standing as they cheered for Neverwinter’s Squire. Rhaine glanced to her companions, and most of them bore looks of relief and happiness on their faces.

“My judgment, as passed at the trial, will now take effect as intended,” Nasher continued. “Luskan’s Arcane Brotherhood will leave the city within three days and will not be permitted within Neverwinter’s walls again. The possessions of the champion, Lorne, are to become the property of the accused. And Torio… you have _much_ to answer for.”

As guards seized the Luskan ambassador by the arms to haul her out of the stands, he stood, leaning over the balcony and addressing Rhaine personally, “Now, Squire, I think you are in need of a well-deserved rest. Return to the Sunken Flagon,” he saluted with a grin, “that is an order from your Lord, soldier of Neverwinter.”

Now that the trial was officially over, Rhaine’s companions jumped over the arena walls and dashed towards her. Shandra crashed into her with a fierce hug while Khelgar and Grobnar both took a leg, nearly squeezing her thighs in two. Neeshka peeled Shandra off of the Doomguide and embraced Rhaine herself, followed by Elanee, Casavir, and Sand. Qara and Bishop kept their distance, but smiled at her, the former’s perhaps a little more genuine than the latter’s.

“Come on, everyone,” Khelgar gleefully cried as Rhaine looped her hands through Sand and Casavir’s proffered arms. “It’s time to celebrate!”

All of them laughed heartily at that as they left the field together, the Greycloaks collecting Lorne’s body behind them. Rhaine had fulfilled her promise and cleared her name at last, and her heart was unburdened as she joined her companions in a celebration of her resounding victory.


	11. Interlude

It had been two months since the farce of a trial. In that time, the focus of the group’s actions shifted towards the lives of Rhaine’s companions. With the hunters of the silver shards now dead, and no one able to locate Ammon Jerro’s Haven, they seemed to have reached a dead end in finding out more about the strange slivers of metal. Additionally, neither Lord Nasher nor Sir Grayson made any more contact with her, and so her duties as a Squire of Neverwinter were practically nonexistent. Even so, Rhaine was not at all upset by this turn of events, glad that everyone’s attention was diverted from her for a while.

Neeshka had been dubbed the “best thief in Neverwinter” now that her main rival, Leldon, was dead – and at Rhaine’s hands, no less. The brigand had attempted to kill Neeshka upon her return to the city, and staged a heist on a wealthy collector’s mansion in the Blacklake district in an effort to lure the tiefling rogue to her doom. He hadn’t counted on Rhaine and her friends being there with the fiendling, and he made the mistake of attacking them; Rhaine would have arrested him, but Leldon insisted on being a fool about it. Thus, Neeshka was now safe, happy, and on top of the heap… and there was one less bandit gang in the city to worry about, to boot.

Elanee had finally made contact with a long-lost member of her Circle: the Circle of the Mere. She had initially thought them lost after a strange “darkness” had taken over the swamp; before then, the druidess had a hard time putting the feeling she had about the place into words. Ultimately, though, she received a message from a druid of the Neverwinter Wood that her Elder was looking for her, and so she and Rhaine traveled to the Skymirror Lake in order to scry him. Elder Naevan confirmed that the rest of the Circle was lost to an alien and cold darkness, the same that Elanee herself had felt. He implied that the so-called King of Shadows might be making a return, but he could not confirm it, promising he would contact her again when he knew more about the situation.

Khelgar the warrior was now Khelgar the monk. Prior Hlam had at first turned the dwarf away from his request to join the Tyrran monks because he lacked the judgment to know what to fight _for_. But since Rhaine had helped him uncover a relic of his people in the lost Ironfist Clanhold – the Gauntlets of Ironfist – he had realized that his obsessive love for battle had cost his people greatly. That, coupled with his dwindling prejudices and the profound injustice of Rhaine’s trial, made Khelgar rethink his lifestyle. Prior Hlam, satisfied with the dwarf’s change of heart, thus finally allowed him to train in the way of a monk. No longer would he fight with axe and shield, but with hands and feet, and his worn chain armor was replaced with silken robes.

Qara had a final confrontation with some of her Academy peers, resulting in their unfortunate deaths. The young wizards were bent on dressing down the arrogant sorceress, and when they refused to allow themselves to be arrested for endangering the Docks with their magics, Rhaine was forced to dispatch them. Afterwards, she and Qara had a heated altercation. The sorceress was understandably upset about being ridiculed for her natural talent for magic, something wizards had a hard time accepting. Rhaine couldn’t criticize her in this regard because she, too, had been in a similar situation not so long ago. But Rhaine berated Qara for her lack of control… a fact that the ignorant sorceress constantly denied.

Sand, having thoroughly enjoyed his travels with Rhaine, closed up shop and decided to stay at the Flagon in case she had further need of him – much to Duncan’s chagrin. He and Qara were continuously at loggerheads; the former accused the latter of immaturity and arrogance, and the latter likewise accused the former of bullheaded stupidity. They were both right and wrong to a certain degree, and neither of them was willing to admit it.

Bishop and Casavir, too, were constantly at odds with each other, and Rhaine almost always ended up being the peacemaker between them. The paladin sincerely believed that the ranger had only joined with them because of an ulterior motive. Rhaine was reluctant to pass such a judgment, particularly because she had no absolute proof. Nevertheless, at the same time, she did feel quite uncomfortable when Bishop was lurking around, and she had yet to trust him on any level…

\------------------------------------------------------

After a time, Rhaine decided to make a visit to West Harbor again, for a myriad of reasons that were growing by the day. First, someone had to inform Rhetta of her eldest son’s fate, and as his slayer, the Doomguide felt responsible for delivering the grim message. In addition, she thought it prudent to let them know that their attackers had finally been eliminated, so the villagers could breathe a little easier. Second, the local Lathanderite priestess of Neverwinter, Dawnbringer Natrisse, had asked her to deliver a tithe box to Brother Merring on the off-chance that Rhaine headed back south. And, finally, Shandra seemed to have an insatiable curiosity regarding Rhaine’s origins. The Doomguide herself also had a few questions she wanted to ask Daeghun, and so she thought it an appropriate time to tie up some loose ends.

Only Shandra and Casavir traveled with her, however. The paladin had insisted on coming for added protection, as the roads south of Fort Locke were becoming ever more dangerous – folk talked of shadows and dark figures walking the Mere at night. Luckily, the threesome encountered no such foes along the way, and they easily reached the small swamp village within a tenday.

Angel’s hoofbeats were dull thuds as the mare traversed the damp dirt road. Shandra rode behind Rhaine, holding on to the Doomguide’s belt. Casavir and his stallion trotted behind and to the side, constantly scanning the sides of the road for potential danger. As they finally approached the outskirts of the town, Rhaine slowed Angel to a walk and gestured to the humble settlement before them.

“Well, here we are.”

Shandra leaned forward and peered over the priestess’s shoulder. “Wow. It’s still a little hard to believe you grew up here. Must’ve been hard, living in a Mere village.”

Rhaine laughed a little. “Not really. Like I said… most of my teenage years, I lived in Waterdeep.”

After a moment, the Doomguide helped Shandra dismount and then slid from Angel’s saddle herself. Casavir, too, dismounted and led his horse beside Angel. Rhaine was in the middle of tying her reins loosely to the wheat field fence when she glimpsed Georg across the way. She waved, and his tall and burly form came eagerly jogging up to meet her.

“Hey, hey! Good to see you again, Rhaine!” he greeted her cheerily, embracing the priestess momentarily with a broad grin on his face. “Decide to come back and pay us a visit, eh? Suppose it’s not for good?”

Rhaine shook her head grimly. “No, Georg, it’s not. I do have to return to Neverwinter, soon. But there was some business I had with Rhetta, Merring, and Daeghun. Are they still around?”

He nodded. “Rhetta’s in the house taking care of a sick Danan. Daeghun just got back from a hunting trip and is cleaning his kills by the bridge. And Merring should be somewhere around here, although I haven’t seen him yet this morning.”

“Thank you, Georg. Oh,” she gestured her companions, “and this is Shandra of Highcliff and Casavir.”

Georg bowed with a flourish, taking Shandra’s hand. “A pleasure, young lady.”

Shandra cast a sideways glance at Rhaine and blushed. “Err… a pleasure to meet you, too.”

He then straightened and looked Casavir up and down with a warm smile. “And well met to you, boy! Did you find Rhaine here in some seedy tavern and sweep her off her feet?”

The paladin chuckled heartily. “Not exactly, no. But it is an honor to know her; there is much to admire.”

Georg nodded knowingly. “Well said.”

Now Rhaine was the one blushing.

“Ah, Georg… why don’t you show these two around the village a bit while I take care of a few things?”

He grinned again. “Certainly! I’d love to share some embarrassing stories about your childhood, too.”

He poked her in the arm as her face flushed even redder.

“ _Georg_!”

Sighing, she shook her head and turned away from the others as Georg occupied them, finally spying brother Merring pumping water from the town’s well. Making her way over to the priest, she patted him on the shoulder gently. “Hello there, Brother.”

He glanced up abruptly, slightly startled. “Oh, Rhaine! You’re back! How wonderful – are you here to stay, good Sister?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, I’m here only briefly, I’m afraid. I actually have something to deliver. From Neverwinter. Look,” she pulled the tithe box out of her pack and proferred it to him, “Dawnbringer Natrisse told me to bring this back to you.”

He took the box and sighed heavily, closing his eyes. “I told that woman displays of wealth do not mean anything to you Harbormen. But I thank you, nonetheless. I shall keep it for emergencies only. Was there anything else you needed, Rhaine?”

“No, Brother Merring,” she replied with a small smile. “I have a bit more business with Daeghun and Rhetta, and then I must depart for Neverwinter once more. But it was good seeing you again. Lathander guide you.”

“And you, Sister Rhaine.”

With that, the Doomguide left the well to seek out Daeghun. She headed towards the opposite end of town, to where the West Harbor Bridge spanned a small stream. Just as Georg had said, she found the elf cleaning his kills in the fresh water.

Not even looking up from his work, he addressed her several paces before she reached him. “You have returned… though the birds whisper that it is not for good. What brings you back to us, daughter?”

Walking up to the edge of the creek, she sat cross-legged beside him. “I have news of the shards. The beings hunting them were the githyanki, and they are now dead by my hand. Their last stronghold on this plane has been destroyed.”

He glanced sideways at her, brow lifted. “Githyanki? I should have known. They are a relentless people. But why were they hunting so intently for the shards, I wonder?”

Her lips thinned. “They are pieces of a broken githyanki silver sword, shattered at the Battle of West Harbor – the same battle that killed my mother and buried a piece of that sword within me.”

Daeghun’s brown eyes met hers abruptly, and she could briefly see a flash of pain in their depths, just before they hardened. “Duncan told you, didn’t he?”

“About the battle, and my wound, yes. But I am still very much in the dark about my mother,” Rhaine answered tersely. The elf had turned away from her once more and was about to continue skinning a rabbit when she siezed him by the shoulders to face her. “Daeghun, _please_ … I need to know more about Esmerelle. Without knowing about her, it’s like I don’t know myself… as if part of me is _missing_.”

At that, Daeghun sighed heavily, briefly closing his eyes as she let go of him. “I know. I probably should not have kept it from you for so long. But I just thought… I just thought it would be too much for you to handle.”

For several long moments, he was silent, and the Doomguide saw his throat bob as he swallowed and gazed into the distant swamp. Then, finally, he shook his head as he began quietly, “When your mother was a little older than yourself, adventure sought her out as well. We met in a tavern and banded together out of mutual necessity. We traveled in this way for a time, but we soon realized that, out of the original group, only we were left. I had had enough of blood and death, and so I retired here to West Harbor with my Shayla. I gradually became content; a heart can heal over time.

“But your mother was spun of a different silk and maintained her vitality in spite of loss. She continued on to weave a grander tale. When Esmerelle finally came back to us many years later, she was thick with child – you. And before you ask, no, she never mentioned a father, and in my homeland we respect silence about such things. Though, since she _was_ the Sun Elf in the relationship, I’m assuming that your father was indeed human.”

He paused and gazed at her for a moment, a smile playing about his lips. “You look so much like her, you know. Your eyes, your mouth… and your ears, of course.”

They both chuckled lightly. He almost seemed cheerful for a few moments.

“She would stay with us and sit beside the hearth,” he continued at length, “and we would retell stories of our adventures together. After you were born, she would rock you in that same chair and sing to you. Those were… happy times.

“And then,” his voice became choked with emotion, and the sorrow visibly came crashing back down upon him, “I lost everything. Again.”

His body shuddered, and he put his head in his hands as grief consumed him. Rhaine carefully placed her own upon his shoulder, but he shrugged her off. “Please. Leave me.”

The Doomguide couldn’t deny that she was hurt at his words, but she silently obeyed, departing as quietly as she had approached. She then headed towards the Starling home, ready to deliver one last bit of news before leaving again for Neverwinter.

When she knocked on the door, it was Bevil who greeted her with a joyful embrace. “Rhaine! Welcome back! Come in, come in,” he ushered her inside, all the while calling, “ _Mother_! Rhaine’s home!”

At his words, Rhetta rushed into the kitchen where Rhaine and Bevil stood. “My goodness! It’s so good to see you again dear, please have a seat.”

Upon her invitation, they sat together at the table, and Rhaine began, “I’m only here momentarily, I’m afraid, as I have some news to deliver.”

Bevil looked a little downcast, but Rhetta nodded her understanding. “Of course, dear. I’m sure you have more things to do in Neverwinter… we heard the rumors that you were Nasher’s newest Squire.”

“That I am,” Rhaine replied with a dip of her head. “But, have you heard anything about Lorne, then?”

Both Rhetta’s and Bevil’s eyes widened in response. “No! I haven’t!” the former exclaimed, leaning across the table eagerly. “Do you have news of him? You know, he was missing ever since the war between Neverwinter and Luskan, and I was so hoping…”

“He’s dead,” Rhaine interjected quietly, knowing no other way to say it without unfairly prolonging Rhetta’s feeble hope. “I’m sorry.”

Face visibly falling, his mother went silent for many moments, looking off through a window for a long while before speaking again. “I thought… when I hadn’t heard from him in so many years… that that might have been the case. But, what happened? Why didn’t we-”

Rhaine held up a hand to stop her, taking a breath to steady herself as she explained, “Luskan framed me for the murder of the village of Ember – an act that Lorne himself committed. He had defected to the Luskans’ side some time during the war, and he became the servant of one of the Hosttower mages there. When the issue came down to a trial by combat to prove my innocence, Lorne was the one who opposed me in the arena… and I killed him.”

When she finished, it was so quiet in the house one could have heard a pin drop. Bevil’s mouth was hanging open, and Rhetta’s wide eyes had teared over, though she pressed her lips together tightly to keep them from flowing.

“I’m sorry, Rhetta,” Rhaine continued gently, repeating her sincere apology. “I wish there could have been another way. But Lorne had to answer for his crimes, and it was either him or me on that field…”

She nodded slowly, swallowing heavily. “I know, dear. I know. I do not blame you. I just wish… I can’t believe… after all this time he was _alive_ , and…”

The tears began to spill freely from her eyes, then, silencing her. As Bevil moved to comfort his mother, Rhaine solemnly stood, pushing in her chair.

“I think I shall leave you both to your grief, now,” she said softly, retreat seemingly her only option. She knew that not even her training as a Doomguide could help soothe them, now, and it was probably best for all parties that she simply leave the premesis.

Neither of the Starlings answered her as she left their house.

When she stepped outside at last, she noticed that Georg had brought Casavir and Shandra full circle, and both companions now waited for her by the horses. Rhaine simply nodded to them, and they mounted up, the Doomguide seating herself in front of Shandra when she reached the white mare’s side.

“I trust Georg didn’t bore you too much with his fanciful tales?”

“Not too much,” Shandra laughed. “What about you? Find out anything more about your mother, or maybe even your father?”

Rhaine nodded as she directed Angel towards the road. “She was a Sun Elf, and an adventurer like Duncan and Daeghun. Apparently they had quite the time together in their youth.”

“Wow,” Shandra commented, “I guess it’s in the blood, eh? Thanks for sharing… and thanks for bringing me along with you. It’s nice to know more about you, rather than just listen to you bark orders about where we should go all day long. Without knowing anything about your humble past, you seem a whole lot larger than life – like some kind of storybook hero.”

Rhaine chuckled, kicking Angel into a trot and following the path northward. “You’re not much different than I, you know. Not so long ago, you were a farmer from a small farm on the outskirts of Highcliff, and now you’re traveling alongside me, fighting like you’ve done it all your life.”

Shandra snorted. “Well, I’m glad you think so.”

They fell silent, and the only sound as they left the village far behind was the steady thump of the horses’ hooves upon the earth. Rhaine’s thoughts about her mother and of Daeghun were now replaced with sickening worry for Bevil.

She feared she had just lost her other childhood friend. Just in a different way.

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A few days after she returned to the Flagon, Rhaine received a message from a courier concerning the sage Aldanon. Apparently, the eccentric old man had made a discovery concerning the silver shards and requested her presence as soon as possible. Rhaine and her companions, eager to find out what the sage had learned, immediately set out for Aldanon’s manse. Unfortunately, they arrived to find the house under siege. The Watch was in a standoff with bandits outside the mansion, with a nearly dead Marshal Cormick between them. Rhaine managed to convince the brigands to surrender without killing Cormick, but the Watch had to promise to let them walk free.

It was a small price to pay for the Marshal’s life.

Inside, more bandits had set up traps and ambushes all throughout the house. Neeshka deftly disarmed every trap before the group made their final move on the bandit leader, who was close to slaying Aldanon’s servants – the old man himself was missing. Once rescued, the sage’s butler told Rhaine of Aldanon’s discovery: another silver shard was in the possession of a ring of Neverwintan lords, passed from one to the other, and each of those lords had been assassinated via summoned demons in the recent past…

… save for one. Cyran Tavorick.

Thus, Rhaine immediately rushed to Lord Nasher to inform him of the high risk of attack on another of his nobles. In response, Nasher dispatched both her and a small contingent of elite Greycloaks to Lord Tavorick’s manor. Nasher hoped that, with added protection, the serial murderer would be foiled and either captured or brought to justice on the spot.

Things were going well and fairly uneventful until night fell, at which point demons of every ilk assaulted the manor… from imps to succubi to even a Hezrou. They were forced to retreat into the family crypt, but in the end, Tavorick was kept safe. Unfortunately, however, the shard was not. The lord had actually handed it off to one of the Neverwinter Nine, Melia, who disguised herself as an escort from the Moonstone Mask in an effort to lure the murderer away from the mansion and into a trap.

Rhaine and her friends quickly departed for the Mask, but failed to arrive in time. Melia and her Greycloaks were already dead upon the brothel’s floor, and a strange-looking man with glowing tattoos on his bald pate stood over her bloodied corpse, the glittering silver shard clutched in his hand.

“You have come too late to save this one,” he snarled, “and if you seek the shard, I have that as well.” He grinned, teeth yellow against his ruddy beard. “It seems to me all you have left is your life. And that can easily be remedied.”

Suddenly, he opened twin portals to the Hells with but a wave of his hand and summoned forth two Nessian war hounds, their dog-like forms as large as horses. He then teleported away as his hounds attacked Rhaine and her companions – a tough fight, indeed, but one that at last ended in victory.

“Who… _was_ that?” Grobnar panted, leaning his tiny form against the brothel’s outer wall as he struggled to catch his breath.

“A warlock,” Casavir supplied, he too resting against a broken table as he recovered, “and a powerful one.”

“Whoever he is,” Elanee added, “we now know him to be our murderer. And it seems one hunter of the silver shards has been replaced with another.”

“What’s so important about those damned things that they have everyone from the Nine Hells to the Astral Plane looking for them?” Bishop demanded.

“That’s a very good question,” Rhaine replied wearily. “And one that cannot be answered… yet. For now, all I can do is report this information to Nasher.”

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Lord Nasher was in the middle of a discussion with a short and rotund woman when Rhaine arrived in Castle Never once more. The Doomguide approached the throne carefully and bowed, unsure if Nasher would hear her now, or if he would prefer to wait.

“Ah, Rhaine. Were you able to protect Cyran?” he inquired upon seeing her near, turning his attention to her.

“Yes, but Melia of the Nine is dead, and the killer evaded capture,” she replied solemnly.

“What? That is… unfortunate indeed. Melia’s loss weakens the Nine greatly,” Nasher replied just as gravely, leaning back on his throne for a moment and blinking as he absorbed the information.

“Does my lordship have any idea how to proceed from here?” Rhaine asked tentatively.

He remained silent for a breath or two before answering, “We must wait for another opportunity to catch this cold-blooded killer. For now, let us turn our attention to Sydney Natale.” He gestured to the woman he’d been speaking to. She was dressed in drab robes, a black star tattooed over one eye, and her hair was short and messy, appearing to have been blonde once but now peppered with steely grey. She bowed to Rhaine in response to her introduction.

“This is the new Luskan Ambassador to Neverwinter,” Nasher continued, “and she was just telling me of a threat to the city that the Hosttower has uncovered.”

Rhaine put her hands on her hips, raising one eyebrow critically at the Luskan woman. “So you’re telling me that Hosttower now wants to play friendly with Neverwinter after burning Ember to the ground and framing me for the villagers’ murder?”

Sydney mirrored her expression. “I assure you that Luskan had no knowledge of the situation in Ember, and only recently discovered the true culprit of that unfortunate situation. I convey my sincerest apologies that such an event occurred. But what’s done is done. We cannot change the past and can only move forward from here.

“This so-called Black Garius, the self-styled ‘Master of the Fifth Tower’… quite a silly and arrogant notion, mind you… has been play-acting as a Luskan official. It was not _we_ who ordered the attack on Ember, but _he_. Additionally, it was not we who sent fleets to raid Ruathym, but _Garius_. He is also the one who used hired mercenaries to infiltrate Neverwinter – mercenaries that you, dear Squire, so effectively dispatched.”

“Sydney believes that Garius is after a powerful tome which Ruathym possesses – the Tome of Iltkizar,” Nasher elaborated. “This tome, according to legend, has sufficient power and information to facilitate the construction of an army of golems.”

“It is also our belief that, due to Garius’s proximity to the city, he plans to use these golems in an assault on Neverwinter,” Sydney added. “We have significant cause to believe that he is attempting to harness the power of the King of Shadows from years past, as well.”

“So, where exactly is this ‘Black’ Garius?” Rhaine inquired.

“He has naturally centered himself at one of the key locations of the Shadow War,” Sydney replied, opening a map in her hands and pointing to the place in question. “Crossroad Keep, just across the Neverwinter River to the south and within a very close proximity to Highcliff.”

“I have ordered Nevalle to send Cloaktower mages to this Crossroad Keep in an attempt to shut down Garius’s operations,” Nasher finished. “I want you, Squire, to meet them there and oversee the mission. Stop Garius at all costs… we cannot afford a failure in this.”

Despite her significant misgivings about this new Luskan ambassador and her convenient explanations, Rhaine bowed deeply to her liege lord. “Yes, milord. It shall be done.”

But as she departed to prepare herself and her companions for their assault on Crossroad Keep, she couldn’t help but think about this “King of Shadows.” Was this the evil that Zeeaire spoke of? Everywhere Rhaine went, the epithet kept cropping up, until it began to feel like more than mere coincidence. And now that she knew Garius was attempting to gain this dark power of years past for himself, she felt more and more certain that this was her true enemy.

Yet how was a githyanki silver sword tied to the King of Shadows in particular? Had the gith fought the King of Shadows at the Battle of West Harbor? And why was yet another person hunting for the shards of that sword? Any time one mystery was resolved, it seemed three more cropped up.

Rhaine was so very tired of having more questions than answers.


	12. Warden of the Keep

It was just past nightfall when they reached Crossroad Keep, the crickets chirruping all around them. At one time, the keep might have been a magnificent structure, with tall, crenelated parapets and soaring towers. Now, though, it was falling apart, with crumbling perimeter turrets and huge gaps in the walls. A large and flat stretch of fallow farmland lay before the small castle, dotted with long-abandoned, dilapidated farmhouses. From one of these structures, a white-robed elf emerged, dashing over to them. His lithe form was blindingly bright in the silvery moonlight.

“I’m with the Many-Starred Cloaks,” he called, a note of worry in his voice. “Hurry and get over here, before you give us away!”

They rushed with him to one rundown house, huddling together behind the decrepit building with at least a dozen other Cloaktower mages. Rhaine peered around the wall at the keep, noticing that there were two guards standing vigil on either side of a wooden gate.

“So, what are we up against?” the Doomguide asked quietly.

“The Luskans have at least twenty men in the courtyard and a handful more in the keep itself,” the elf replied. “Most of those soldiers will be asleep – they shouldn’t be a problem. The Arcane Brotherhood, on the other hand, could prove to be a quite the challenge.

“The Luskans only open the main gate for the guards’ shift changes, one of which should be coming up soon,” he continued. “I recommend we strike them hard and fast, taking them by surprise and hopefully interrupting their plans. And we do need to act quickly; from what intelligence we were able to gather, they’re doing something _very_ bad in there.”

“Right then,” Rhaine answered, her face set in a grim expression of determination. “We’re ready on your command.”

The elf smirked, “It’s still a bit before their next shift change – let’s let them sleep a little longer, shall we?”

Neeshka snorted as the companions and the mages made themselves as comfortable as they could, trying their best to relax before what could be the toughest fight of their lives.

\------------------------------------------------------

“It’s time! The Luskans are opening the gate! Let’s go!”

The companions charged for the keep the moment the next shift change began, the Many-Starred Cloaks close on their heels. Bishop and Grobnar both landed killing shots on the guards as they turned their backs to go inside. The fresh reliefs for the two slain Luskans were then met with fireballs and lightning bolts to the face as the Cloaktower mages unleashed their formidable power.

“Get into the courtyard!” Rhaine yelled, continuing her sprint at the head of the group, “Rush them!”

As they pushed into the courtyard of Crossroad Keep, the entire place erupted into mass pandemonium. Soldiers with only a few pieces of armor on scrambled to find their weapons and shields. Archers perched on the crumbling walls tried to pick the off the Neverwintans, while the Many-Starred Cloaks retaliated with their powerful magics. Rhaine and her companions took on the melee fighters, she herself going head to head with the Luskan guard commander.

He wasn’t their commander for nothing. The lithe and agile man, armored from head to toe in flexible scale-mail, swung his halberd with astonishing ease. Rhaine didn’t have time to think of a spell to cast as she was too busy dodging the whistling blade of her opponent. The duel seemed to go on for hours as the Doomguide could not find an opening in which to strike. All of her blows were parries, trying desperately to keep the halberd from reaching its intended target. Finally, though, Neeshka managed to slit his throat from behind, her small dagger fitting easily between his helm and collar.

During the commotion, Rhaine didn’t even notice that half of the Luskan men had retreated into the keep itself, barring the doors from the inside. Once the dust cleared, the mages attempted to blast the doors open with fireballs, but to no avail. The pale elf cursed as he glanced in Rhaine’s direction. “ _Hrast!_ They’ve got mages on the other side counterspelling us. Squire, there are escape tunnels to the southwest, carved into the hillside that this keep is built upon. Go see if you can take the wizards out from behind… we’ll be ready to join you when you do. Hurry!”

At that, the companions quickly made for the gates again, leaving the courtyard and heading back towards the High Road. They found the entrance to the escape tunnels a little ways off of a dirt path, partially hidden by overgrown brush. Once inside, they had no trouble making their way to the keep’s secret exit, only having to fight a few giant spiders and stag beetles along the way.

\------------------------------------------------------

Bishop carefully opened the rotting wooden door that separated the keep’s main floor from the escape tunnels. Once he examined the area, he waved the rest inside. The pungent smell of damp earth, mold, and magical residue filled their nostrils as they all crept forward slowly, trying not to warn the opposition of their presence with any unnecessary noise.

Lo and behold, standing next to a mildewed bookcase and casually browsing a gigantic tome, was Aldanon. He turned upon hearing noise behind him, his expression stern until he saw Rhaine’s face. “Ah! So you’ve been invited by Garius, too?”

“We haven’t been _invited_ , Aldanon,” Rhaine hissed in irritation, gripping her sword tight, “and neither have you! Keep your voice down; we’re trying to route the Arcane Brotherhood holed up here. Is Garius with them?”

He didn’t bother lowering his voice. “Of course he is. Just a little while ago he asked me for my expertise about some kind of Illefarn ritual.”

“Aldanon,” Elanee whispered, eyes widening, “he could be doing this ritual _right now!_ ”

He waved his hand in the air as if to clear it. “Nonsense! I’m sure he’d do nothing of the sort. He seemed quite level-headed to me… only an idiot would contemplate doing such a horrible thing.”

“ _Who’s_ the idiot?” Neeshka muttered.

At that, Rhaine siezed Aldanon by the shoulders. “Look. You need to get out of here and warn Neverwinter of what’s going on. Now go! And don’t stop until you’re kneeling in front of Lord Nasher’s throne!”

“Really, I don’t understand what the fuss is-”

“ _Go_!” Rhaine shoved him none-too-gently towards the escape tunnels, tired of his aimless protesting.

He brushed himself off with an eye roll and snorted. “Silly youngsters and their exuberance…”

At last, though, he departed, and Rhaine shook her head as she crept up to another door. She could hear the sounds of magic being cast beyond and wondered if it was the Brotherhood dispelling the Many-Starred Cloaks. Looking back at her companions to make sure they were ready, she opened the door…

… and the rest of the Luskan men charged them, ready for them after the first attack. Sure enough, there were two Arcane Brotherhood mages facing the keep doors, holding up a powerful ward to keep the Cloaktower wizards from breaking through. Sand managed to dispel their magic, while Qara followed up with a fireball to incinerate them. The Many-Starred Cloaks then came bursting into the room, and with their combined forces, the Neverwintans easily wiped out the remnants of the Luskan soldiers. In minutes, the guards were simply a pile of bloody and charred corpses.

After pausing a moment, the pale elf remarked with a grin, “Well that was-”

But he was cut off as suddenly, a force of dark magic cracked like a whip across their minds, leaving them wearied and lightheaded in its wake. Rhaine swayed precariously as she felt like she would lose consciousness…

Sand put his hands to his temples, as if he were in great pain. “ _Nngh_ … that would be our impending doom…”

The Cloaktower mage’s eyes widened in horror. “They’re doing the ritual _now_? We’ve got to stop them!”

They hurried towards the basement, but a contingent of strange priests barred the way. They were garbed in black robes, with strange symbols hanging from their necks, ones that Rhaine did not recognize. The companions wasted no time with them, slaying the shadowy priests like their Luskan guards and opening the door to the basement level. 

But then, at the bottom of the stairs, they saw something waiting for them that made them all begin backing up very, very slowly.

A blade golem, like the one they found in the githyanki caves north of Ember.

And this one was activated.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Oh my,” Grobnar whispered. “That one doesn’t look nice at all.”

“Of course it doesn’t, genius, _it’s a hrasting construct_!” Bishop snapped sharply. “Arrows will do no good, and neither will most weapons.”

“It is made of metal alloys. Acid should do the trick,” Sand murmured. “As would fire. Electricity is just a bad idea all the way around.”

Sand, Qara, and the Cloaktower mages began chanting evocation spells of varying degrees. Upon the sound of intruders, the golem began charging towards them, its bladed arms swinging wildly. The spellcasters unleashed their power as one, releasing it upon the activated construct. Luckily, as they had hoped, the construct burst apart at the seams from the combined force of fire and acid. The group then proceeded down the hall past its broken form, the sounds of dark magic growing ever louder in their ears.

“This is it,” the pale elf said grimly. “Let’s crash their little party, shall we?”

In a room beyond, there were five Arcane Brotherhood mages, all connected together by threads of scarlet negative energy. These threads converged on a man in the middle of their star formation, whom Rhaine assumed was Black Garius. His silver eyes met hers as she emerged, and he smiled cruelly, addressing the mages, “Keep concentrating. The rest of you, kill them!”

More mercenaries stepped from the shadows, and the Luskans and Neverwintans clashed with a fury of swords and spells. These warriors were much more skilled than the soldiers above, and they proved to be far more resilient as well. The battle was long and heated, and for a time it did not appear as if either side was winning. Slowly and gradually, however, the Luskans began to falter, and one by one they fell to the companions’ combined resolve.

The members of the Arcane Brotherhood who surrounded Garius, fearful for their own lives then, began to lose their concentration on their spell, and the scarlet magic went rampant, snapping with a sickening sound from one man to the next with ravishing and lethal power until it lifted Garius from the floor of the room in a noxious cloud.

“ _What have you done to me_?!” he howled as the dark energy ripped through him and then deposited him and the Brotherhood mages on the floor of the basement together, dead.

“Search the bodies,” Rhaine commanded after a moment. “See if you can find anything of interest.”

Neeshka promptly obeyed, helping herself to the myriad of jewels, gold, and trinkets on the dead wizards’ corpses. Most of them turned up nothing, not even incriminating documents, until Rhaine found quite the gem on Garius’s own body…

… another silver shard.

It seemed that yet another party was interested in gathering these broken bits of metal. Rhaine began to wonder the same thing that Bishop had brought up in the Moonstone Mask: what was so important about these things that had so many varying factions looking for them? Even willing to kill over them? It made no sense…

“If you’re done, let’s get out of here,” the pale elf called behind them. “We need to search for prisoners and take care of these bodies.”

It was then, as they prepared to leave, that Casavir placed a gauntleted hand on Rhaine’s shoulder, speaking quietly as he leaned close. “Do you get the sense that this is not over?”

The Doomguide met his eyes and nodded gravely. “I do.”

Somehow, even with Garius’s defeat, it felt as though they had unleashed something that could not be put back in its cage…

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine walked with Sir Nevalle into Captain Brelaina’s office. Aldanon was in the middle of an explanation – or, rather, argument – with the Captain on the nature of a prisoner whom the Many-Starred Cloaks had rescued from Crossroad Keep. Rhaine herself had been summoned to the Watch Offices because this prisoner had apparently asked for her by name.

Brelaina glanced away from Aldanon to see Rhaine enter, and she smiled broadly. “Welcome back, Lieutenant. Master Aldanon and I were just discussing Garius’s prisoner – a woman, not of Neverwinter or Luskan, or perhaps even this very plane. I had hoped you would be able to help us identify her or her intentions here.”

“If you would just _listen_!” Aldanon exclaimed. “This prisoner is of the same blood of the githyanki, and yet not. Both were once one people at one time. But time is variable depending upon the plane, especially the Astral Plane, and-”

“Is this prisoner a threat or not?” Brelaina snapped.

The sage shook his head. “I can’t tell you that! All I can say is that the githyanki and githzerai have been at war with each other for millennia, which I would say makes her an ally to the Squire here. Well met to you again, by the way, you seem to be everywhere…”

Before Rhaine could reply, Aldanon began sauntering towards the door. “She was quite reasonable when we were at Crossroad Keep… and speaking of the keep, I’m going to head back to its library and resume the research I was conducting there before I was so _rudely_ interrupted.”

At that, the sage departed, the office door slamming behind him. Brelaina sighed heavily, putting her head in one hand and rubbing her temples. “I think it is best that you go ahead and speak with her, Rhaine. She seemed rather insistent.”

The Captain then turned to the locked cell door beside her, rattling some keys as she opened the locks, and then swung the door open. Out stepped a strange-looking woman. She bore the same overall appearance of a githyanki, just as Aldanon had implied, but upon further inspection, there were also several differences to note. Her grey-green skin was smoother, and her stature was much more petite than Zeeaire’s had been. Her chestnut hair was fashioned in an elaborate twist at the back of her head, pinned in place with a shining silver barrette. She had elf-like ears, adorned with several earrings each. Upon her face was a white lace and satin veil that left only her pale yellow eyes visible above it. As for clothing, she wore a dark grey leather corset, skirt, and sandals, all embellished with glowing orange jewels.

Her startlingly steady gaze locked upon Rhaine, and she stood still for several moments before speaking. Though not visible past her veil, a smile seemed to spread across her face, as her cheeks rose above it, and the corners of her eyes squinted.

“I felt your presence before I set eyes upon you… _Kalach-cha_ ,” she said, her voice quite low and rough for a woman’s. Yet, unlike Zeeaire’s, it possessed a certain warmth to it that was disarming.

Rhaine, however, could practically feel Nevalle stiffening behind her. She approached the woman slowly, unsure of whether or not the prisoner would make any sudden moves. “They said you asked for me by name. What is yours?”

“Your name,” the woman replied, “is not how I _know_ you. As for myself, you may call me Zhjaeve.”

Rhaine’s brow furrowed at her words. “Then how do you know me… Zhjaeve?”

The githzerai met her eyes fearlessly. “I _know_ you by the title our enemies have laid upon you: _Kalach-cha_. It has traveled far, even reaching the ears of my people. At first, we thought the githyanki did not _know_ that of which they spoke… that they had erred in their judgment. But now that I stand before you, I see the truth; the key by which you may _know_ yourself lies within you.”

Rhaine shook her head, confused. “Pardon me. I’m not sure I understand what you are saying.”

“You do not understand because you do not _know_ what it is that you are, what it is you are to become, and what it is you are to face,” Zhjaeve continued. “I _know_ much of the problems that beset both your people and mine... the reason behind these attacks on your homeland. You alone are the key to defeating our mutual enemy, and _know_ that you will have no greater ally in this than I. In exchange for my aid, I simply ask that you let me walk freely, so that I may travel at your side. I have borne this indignity,” she gestured to her cell, “because I knew it would bring you to me, and a greater truth can now be revealed.”

“So all you want in exchange for your knowledge is to travel with me?”

“Yes. And in freeing me, _know_ that you will gain more than you could have ever gleaned from the lips of your enemies,” Zhjaeve replied sincerely. “Please… release me from this prison, and I will tell you all that I know of this growing darkness.”

Nevalle shifted uneasily behind Rhaine. “We promise you an honest hearing, and if your tale rings true, we will then grant you your freedom.”

“Then listen to me, and _know_ this threat for what it truly is,” she answered, “but we cannot do it here. I must see what it is that you would fight for – what you have and would spill blood for. I want to _know_ this plane I am to assist you in saving.”

Sir Nevalle nodded his understanding. “I have just the place in mind. Squire Rhaine, make your way back to Crossroad Keep as soon as you are able. I will meet you there.”

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To Rhaine’s surprise, they returned to Crossroad Keep to find it in a state of reconstruction. Workers were busy clearing rubble and removing the Luskan banners from the walls. It appeared as though they were renovating it for a new tenant…

Nevalle placed a hand on Rhaine’s shoulder, seemingly comforting and encouraging at the same time. “It has seen better days, and it will again.”

She smiled. “It should. Such a magnificent structure deserves better than to lay in disrepair.”

The knight nodded in agreement. “This castle was destroyed in the war with the King of Shadows, long ago. I have brought you back to this place under orders from Lord Nasher. It is here, perhaps, that your new ally can see what we will be fighting for.”

He walked with Rhaine into the courtyard, gesturing to the workers around her and uttering words that she never would have expected, “These people are yours to command as you see fit. You are now their Captain, under Neverwinter’s banner. Make this keep ready for war, gather allies to your side, and be prepared to strike when our newfound enemy decides to show itself; according to the Hosttower, we have little time to waste. Garius’s infernal plans, despite his defeat, have inevitably produced a much larger threat.

“To help you in your task, Lord Nasher has assigned to you your own personal lieutenant, Kana. Additionally, he has provided you with a master mason from Cormyr, Veedle. I will also have a cohort of one hundred of my men dispatched to the Keep as soon as possible.”

Rhaine reeled in shock. She looked around at the castle, mouth agape, turning in place as she took in the whole place in a state of utter disbelief. Nevalle smiled warmly at her. “You are mistress of this keep, now… a title you have earned through blood and sacrifice. You have my trust, Rhaine, and that of Lord Nasher.”

Then, he bowed to her, slowly backing away. “I shall take my leave now, Captain, as I have much to do. But I will return on occasion to monitor your progress. May fortune smile upon you, Rhaine, and may the gods watch over us all. These are dark times, and they will only get worse from here.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Zhjaeve stood with Rhaine on the keep’s battlements, watching the sun set over the glimmering Sea of Swords, far to the west. She was still a bit overwhelmed by her newfound station, but her astonishment had been gradually replaced with determination. She could not fail Lord Nasher, not when he had put this much confidence in her.

The githzerai was silent for some time, scanning the horizon and the surrounding environs as if she were drinking in its very substance. The castle was set atop a very large hill, and the town of Highcliff was visible far below and slightly to the southwest. From the highest tower they could see the city of Neverwinter, standing as a glimmering white jewel across the river to the north. Southwards, though, towards the Mere of Dead Men, the land in the distance looked hazy and murky… and not because of the swamp. It felt as if something were beginning to gather there – to hang over it like a shroud. Rhaine now understood what Elanee meant about the “strange darkness” of Merdelain, the elvish term for the Mere.

“Look,” Zhjaeve said, pointing to that darkness, “even now, the shadows gather. Yet the beauty of this plane persists. It is not surprising that our enemies wish to see it destroyed.”

Rhaine nodded. “Now that you have seen my land and my people, will you tell me what you know about this new threat?”

“I will, as I have promised you,” the githzerai replied, “but _know_ that what you see here is not the first occurrence of such things. It is but a taste of what has happened in the past and will happen again in the near future. And it is all part of something more… as great as the divide that split my people on the blade of Gith, and it is also tied to that very sword.

She gestured to the Mere again. “These shadows… there is a King behind them, and he has fought on this plane before against the githyanki. He first attacked them in the Astral Plane, and there were thousands of deaths before the King of Shadows was finally driven away. But despite this, they were unable to defeat him… only destroy the portal through which he came. They were denied a victory, and they did not forget him. They sought a way to retaliate.

“But even as terrible as the githyanki are, as relentless as they are, _know_ that the threat from the King of Shadows is far greater.”

Zhjaeve paused, then, as if giving Rhaine time to absorb the information.

“So,” the Doomguide began at length, letting out a long breath. “Where is this King of Shadows and how do I stop him?”

Zhjaeve sighed. “The King of Shadows was not always evil… he was once a great protector of an empire, the empire that existed here on this very soil before the rise of men. He was the light of Illefarn, bound to the very magic of the Weave itself. There was a ritual to create him, and there was also a ritual to destroy him when the empire needed him no longer. It is this Ritual of Purification that I believe we can use to bring him peace at last. We’ll need to go to the ruins of the city of Arvahn to do this.”

Rhaine closed her eyes, thinking about the githzerai’s cryptic words. A long moment of silence passed before she opened them again. “It all seems so… desperate. As if we are grasping at straws, here. But if it is what I must do to defeat this threat, I shall.”

Zhjaeve nodded solemnly. “ _Know_ that this path is indeed a dangerous one. The Illefarn themselves tried to defeat the King of Shadows after he had become corrupted, but they were unable to do so. And even now he makes his presence known beyond his prison in the Shadow Plane.”

“You make it sound as if we are losing the battle already,” Rhaine murmured, leaning against a crumbling crenellation.

Zhjaeve shook her head. “Perhaps. If we do nothing, then we are indeed lost. But there is more that we can do to stop this. Your title of _Kalach-cha_ … even if you do not _know_ it, the name knows you. You are the ‘Shard-Bearer,’ because you carry a piece of Gith’s own blade near your heart, and always have.”

Upon hearing those words, the Doomguide’s mouth dropped open. No wonder the githyanki were so zealous in their search for the shards… it wasn’t just _any_ silver sword that had shattered, it was the sword of Gith herself, their heroine and founder!

She glanced sideways at the githzerai, and she could tell that Zhjaeve was smiling again.

“It was once said that Gith’s blade, once drawn, would never find a scabbard again,” her new ally mused aloud, “And now look. It is sheathed within _you_.”

“It _sings_ ,” she continued, “and they hear it as I do. It sings of the hate of Gith and her war, a war that would have destroyed us all had Zerthimon not stopped her – the roiling, all-consuming hate that divided our people into the githyanki and the githzerai so many thousands of years ago.”

“What do I do, then?” Rhaine asked. “The shards… the shard inside me. What do I do with them? Can I use them to our advantage somehow? And why do our enemies seek them so desperately?”

“You are the only one who can reforge Gith’s blade,” Zhjaeve answered simply. “There is no other. Only you can reforge it and use it against the King of Shadows as it was used once before.”

“West Harbor,” Rhaine murmured, realization dawning within her. Someone had tried to stop the King of Shadows at the Battle of West Harbor with the Sword of Gith… but who?

“We do not yet have enough pieces to reforge the blade yet,” the githzerai added, “and so we must undergo the Ritual of Purification first. Do not worry about searching for more, though. The shards will find you. And as you walk this path of destiny, I vow to travel with you and fight with you against this enemy of ours. I am giving you my life, _Kalach-cha_.”

Rhaine took a deep, steadying breath, and then smiled at the githzerai, nodding her acceptance as the sun dipped below the sea. “Very well. I welcome you, Zhjaeve. Let us stop this King of Shadows. Together.”


	13. Farewell to the Fallen

For the next several months, Captain Rhaine Alcinea focused on rebuilding and repopulating Crossroad Keep. Most of the funds that Lord Nasher had set aside for the reconstruction were drained in just a few tendays – given to Master Veedle to see to the cobbling of the roads and the patching of the walls. Sir Nevalle’s men arrived during this time, and the Doomguide set them to patrolling the High Road; there would be no more money without more merchants coming through the Keep, and there would be no merchants without a safe means of travel. Once a steady income was established, she could see to further improving the castle’s defenses.

Rhaine then sent several letters of invitation to various people she had met within the past year, to either return favors that they owed her or to offer a roof over their heads. Katriona, one of Casavir’s sergeants from Old Owl Well, answered the summons to offer her services in training the Greycloaks. Two foremen, Pentin and Calindra, arrived with their crews to mine the rich ore from the nearby mountains. Jacoby, a smith from Fort Locke, and Edario, an armorer from Highcliff, both answered the Doomguide’s summons to outfit the troops in armor and weapons made from the extracted ore. Deekin, the famous kobold bard from Neverwinter, even set up a general store in the courtyard. And finally, Sal, the bartender from the Sunken Flagon, made himself at home as the proprietor of the new Phoenix Tail Inn.

As merchant traffic gradually increased, so did the treasury of Crossroad Keep. Thus, more funds were appropriated for the expansion and renovation of the interior of the keep itself, as well as the reinforcement of the walls and perimeter towers. The lands surrounding the keep were finally cleared for farmland, and more and more peasants began moving closer to the estate, seeking the protection of the Greycloaks from the encroaching danger to the south. It was then that Orlen, the wheat farmer from West Harbor, decided to move in as well, and he taught the new soldiers the basics of hunting, fishing, and survival.

Half a year after her acquisition of it, Crossroad Keep looked nothing like it had before. It was a miniature town unto itself, entirely self-sufficient and constantly bustling with activity. The Greycloaks stationed there possessed better armor and weapons than the men under Lord Nasher himself. In addition, the regularity of the patrols on the renovated High Road encouraged merchant traffic all the way from Waterdeep, and the keep’s coffers continued to swell. Many were inspired by the discipline and nobility of the soldiers under Rhaine’s command, causing volunteers to sign up in droves. The number of Greycloaks at Crossroad Keep tripled from one hundred to three hundred and fifty troops – so many that Orlen could barely provide enough food for them all.

Ultimately, the castle itself had transformed from a rundown pile of rubble into a magnificent, nearly impregnable fortress. Crossroad Keep boasted two sets of thick, crenelated walls, reinforced with tall towers and a double gatehouse. The banners of Neverwinter hung proudly from its parapets, and the many gleaming lights of the castle could be seen at night all the way to Highcliff.

It had become a welcome sign of comfort in these troubled times.

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine had packed her belongings and was in the process of locking her quarters when she heard booted footsteps behind her. She turned around to see Lieutenant Kana in the hall, a slip of parchment held in her hands.

“Captain.” Kana saluted smartly. She was a sharp woman, always garbed in her form-fitting scarlet and grey chainmail, her long black hair slicked into a tight bun.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” Rhaine replied with a smile, returning her salute. “What is it that you need?”

Kana extended the parchment to her. “We’ve received a letter from Sir Nevalle. Apparently, they’ve captured Torio Claven near the Luskan border and are deferring authority over her fate to you. Nevalle suggested that she could be brought here for interrogation, as she knows much of what went on during Garius’s occupation of this keep.”

The Doomguide took the paper and skimmed over its contents. Kana had supplied an accurate summary, as usual.

“Your thoughts, Lieutenant?” the Doomguide asked.

Kana’s face was hard, her lips thin. “I think the ‘ambassador’ would be more of a detriment to Crossroad Keep, compared to the information that she might be able to provide. She is also a known liar – anything she has to say will be suspect.”

Though Rhaine recalled Sand’s words about Torio from her trial, she couldn’t help but nod slowly in agreement with her second. “Indeed. Inform Nevalle that she will not be allowed here. Torio is a traitor, and she enabled the deaths of many innocents. She deserves a traitor’s fate… but I do not have the authority to command her execution. That belongs to Lord Nasher alone.”

Kana inclined her head in acknowledgment of Rhaine’s wishes and saluted again. “I will send the orders at once, Captain.”

The priestess then followed her lieutenant into the foyer of the keep where Zhjaeve awaited her, spear held in her hands. The githzerai dipped her head graciously to Rhaine upon sighting her. “The rest of your companions already await you at the gates. Are you ready to travel to the ruins of Arvahn to perform the Ritual of Purification at last?”

The Doomguide sighed. “I am. Let us go.”

\------------------------------------------------------

It took the group five days to reach the Illefarn ruins, nestled in the foothills northeast of Neverwinter. Once there, they found the place overrun with ogres, orcs, and goblins. These foes were more of an annoyance than a true threat, and when they were finally disposed of, the companions could explore the ruins in peace. While searching for the Statues of Purification needed to conduct this ancient ritual, they learned more of the King of Shadows from the lingering shades of Illefarn itself; trapped in the ruins because of their failure to stop their creation, the ghosts of those closest to the Guardian told their tragic story to their living audience.

The empire of Illefarn had, in fact, constituted much of the Sword Coast in the ages before the rise of humans. The city now known as Waterdeep was once their magnificent capital of Aelinthaldarr. The empire itself was comprised of a strange alliance of elves and dwarves, both races living alongside each other for mutual protection. But though Illefarn was powerful, their evil northeastern rival of Netheril was more so. And when Netheril ultimately threatened to attack the Illefarn, the greatest minds amongst the dwarves and the elves came together to create a solution to their growing problem.

Their answer was the Guardian.

The Guardian was once a living human, but he gave himself up to the elaborate ritual that created the empire’s new magical protector. Slowly, over the course of several months, the human’s body and mind was eaten away… replaced by the very essence of the Weave itself – the source of all magic. In time, he became a creature of pure magical power, feeding off of the eternal Weave to sustain himself.

Netheril, intimidated by the Illefarn’s new Guardian, backed off. The plan had worked.

Unfortunately, the Netherese Archmage, Karsus, designed another, far darker, ritual that would grant him the power of the Weave as well, elevating him to godhood and deposing of the goddess of magic of the time, Mystryl. He was ultimately successful in his endeavor, but only for a brief time; the act made him a god for but an instant, but he was not properly prepared, and the Weave destroyed him. Mystryl was reincarnated as Mystra moments later, but the damage had already been done…

The Guardian, having been momentarily sapped of its life force, did what any creature desiring to maintain its existence would do: it turned to the Weave’s dark twin - the Shadow Weave - for its energy, and was immediately corrupted by its power. And despite the fact that the Guardian’s former lifeforce was restored, it continued drinking from the font of shadow instead. The Guardian was quickly twisted into what would be called the King of Shadows, and it turned against the very empire that had created it, wreaking destruction of impossible magnitude upon the people of Illefarn.

And so, the Ritual of Purification was devised to destroy him – a series of magical powers granted by the Statues of Purification that could unmake the Guardian the Illefarn had created. However, the Illefarn themselves were unable to successfully use it against him, their people decimated in every battle against the empowered nightwalker. Their empire, broken, eventually dissolved, abandoning the Sword Coast entirely, and the King of Shadows finally sought foes elsewhere.

Four of the five Statues of Purification still lay in the ruins of Arvahn. They each bore the countenance of the elven goddess Angharradh, and when they were activated, a single note of song emanated from them. Zhjaeve explained that the Illefarn often used magic by way of singing; with each statue activated, the harmony increased, until a portal was opened on the hill that overlooked the ruins. The githzerai called it a “song portal,” and she suggested that the fifth statue must lie beyond, protected by distance. The group hesitantly stepped through the portal to seek it out, unsure of where the song path would take them…

\------------------------------------------------------

“Oh, gods,” Shandra whispered, horror in her tone. “What _happened_?”

They had been deposited in West Harbor on the edge of the town, not far from the Farlong house.

And the entire village had been destroyed.

Rhaine’s mouth dropped open in shock, her heart in her throat as she saw what once had been her home village. Every house, every standing structure, had been burned to the ground. All that remained were blackened and smoldering timbers; even the earth had been scorched all the way to the bare dirt. A sickening pall hung in the air, tinged with the scent of smoke and blood.

_No… no, my lord, please, no…_

“What is this place? Your birth village?” Zhjaeve asked tentatively.

Rhaine wordlessly nodded, her throat constricted so tightly she could not speak. She couldn’t believe it… couldn’t believe that the place she had tried so hard to keep safe had been attacked after all without her knowledge…

“Something is wrong,” the gith continued, glancing about warily, “we have been redirected from our original destination. But perhaps we should search the village first.”

“Agreed,” Casavir added with a nod. “There could be townsfolk left alive. Rhaine,” he glanced to her, “are you going to be all right?”

At his question, Rhaine focused upon his face, across which was writ an expression of grave concern. “I… I think so. Let’s see if we can find… survivors.”

At this last word, she swallowed hard. There had to be some who escaped the carnage, there just _had_ to be…

The Doomguide walked forward slowly, stiffly, as if she were a lifeless marionette being manipulated by a puppeteer, her heart filled with dread. They made their way cautiously across the West Harbor Bridge, checking the ruined houses as they went, including what had once been Daeghun’s home.

And then, she saw the bodies.

There, lying by the village well, was the corpse of Georg, his face ashen, his milky eyes permanently wide in the terror. There was not a single mark upon his body that suggested a means of death, but it was obvious that he had been horrified in his final moments. Surrounding him were the forms of Webb, Ward, and Wyl Mossfeld, their bodies in a similar state. It appeared as though Georg had attempted to rally the militia against whoever had attacked them, but he had been unable to do so in time.

Before the Starling house lay Rhetta, their three dogs, and even little Danan. Not far from them was Brother Merring, his holy symbol of Lathander still clutched tightly in his hand. At this, the Doomguide could take no more, and she fell to her knees, dissolving into racking sobs. Elanee and Neeshka both placed their hands on her shoulders comfortingly, while Casavir knelt at her side and embraced her tightly. She shook them both with the fierceness of her cries, her voice muffled in the paladin’s neck.

“I… told them… they were safe. I… I told them… it was over,” she wept, “but I was wrong. I was _wrong_!”

“Don’t blame yourself, lass,” Khelgar said softly. “You couldn’t foresee this – there’s no way. What happened here isn’t your fault.”

“What… _monster_ … would do something like this?” Shandra growled, her teeth gritted together in sheer anger.

“We will find who did this,” Casavir murmured. “We will find them and bring them to justice. This I vow to you.”

Then, Zhjaeve suddenly glanced up and about, her yellow eyes gone wide. “ _Listen_. Do you hear that? It is like the sound of… of a child, wailing.”

At her words, Rhaine finally pushed away from Casavir with a thankful pat to his shoulder, her eyes now red and puffy. He hooked his arms under hers and gently pulled her to her feet, and the Doomguide blinked a few times as she tried to listen to what Zhjaeve described. But there was nothing.

“I… I don’t hear anything…”

“Come.” The gith went forth at a quick pace, looking all around her as she searched the area and followed whatever sound she heard in her head.

Zhjaeve ultimately led them to a dark scar in the earth, near the pathway that led out of the village. It had always been there – a patch of dirt that the grass would never grow over. She waved them forward. “The sound is strong here, _very_ strong. This is a holy place, and we should return when we know more…”

“The dead,” Rhaine replied hoarsely, caring little about Zhjaeve’s mystic feelings at the moment, “we should bury the dead and give them their Rites.”

“We will do so, yes,” the githzerai agreed, “but _after_ we find the fifth Statue of Purification. Do not forget our original task, a task that we _must_ complete. Are there any Illefarn ruins nearby?”

The Doomguide paused for a moment and then nodded with a heavy sigh. “Yes. They’re just along this path here.”

“Then that is our true destination,” Zhjaeve answered firmly. “We must hurry. The King of Shadows no doubt knows what we’re doing. This may be a ploy meant to delay us.”

\------------------------------------------------------

They made their way deep into the swamp, then, to a small ruin very near where Rhaine and Bevil had found the first of the silver shards. But the seals upon the door had been broken. Someone had been there before them.

They entered slowly, their eyes adjusting to the dim, almost red lighting within. There, surrounding the Statue of Purification, were four Shadow Priests, like those they had found at Crossroad Keep. Another being stood alongside them, a tall creature garbed in robes of shadow, its head a floating, fanged skull wreathed in icy blue flame.

Shandra’s eyes widened. “ _Gods_ , what is that thing?” She asked, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“It is a Shadow Reaver,” Zhjaeve answered softly. “A powerful servant of the King of Shadows, and beyond it-”

She was cut off as there was a sudden explosion and a blinding flash of white light. The head of the Statue of Purification was blown off, falling to the floor and shattering into a thousand pieces. The Shadow Reaver turned and saw the group there, addressing them in an eerie, echoing voice that sounded within their minds.

“You have come far… for _nothing_. The Statue’s power is spent; _another_ has taken it. But it will not stop us.”

Zhjaeve’s yellow eyes were wide. “Another seeks to perform the Ritual of Purification? You speak lies!”

“Ah, gith… zerai,” the Reaver mused. “Why the illithids insisted on using your people as slaves is beyond me. It was a waste to both of you.”

“And why the King of Shadows insists on using weak-minded thralls such as yourself is beyond me as well,” the githzerai retorted sharply.

“Weak? Our lord has granted us much power. Kill me here, and I will be reborn in the Vale of Merdelain – whole once again. You will not be able to stop me. And once I finish you, there will be no one to hinder our King’s return,” the Reaver boasted. His tone dripped with a hubris that was very nearly sickening to hear.

“And how can you be so certain that your spirit will make it to the Vale before _my_ lord snatches it to the Fugue?” Rhaine snapped, fierceness in both her eyes and her voice as she gripped _Touch of Death_ tightly in hand. She would have her revenge upon these abominations for their crimes…

“It is a risk, of course,” the Reaver replied with a dismissive shrug, “but one that I am more than willing to make.”

With that, the Reaver attacked, a scythe made entirely of shadow materializing from nothingness in his hands. An intense battle followed, the room filling with a clashing of light and shadow as their spells collided again and again with both blinding power and void-like darkness. When the dust finally cleared, only minute later, the Shadow Priests were nothing but piles of ash on the floor, and the Reaver had vanished.

As Zhjaeve healed a massive gash in her shoulder, wincing, she turned to Rhaine and shook her head. Her voice was weak with fatigue. “It… is done. But it will be reborn as it says. And there will be more.”

“Hopefully not together,” Elanee added darkly, tossing her now-broken spear aside, “one was more than enough.”

“We should return to West Harbor now,” Casavir observed. “We need to bury the dead, and they will require a Doomguide’s Rites if we are to protect them from the power of undeath that this King of Shadows obviously exerts over the Mere.”

Thus, once all their wounds were healed, they wearily returned to the village. There, Rhaine gave Last Rites to the fallen, sprinkling the rest of Nya’s wyrmsage powder on the corpses. After burying the bodies and paying their respects to the villagers of West Harbor, the companions then took the road north out of the Mere, heading back towards Crossroad Keep with heavy hearts.

As they left, Rhaine couldn’t help but wonder about Daeghun and Bevil. She hadn’t seen either of them amongst the dead. Could they have escaped, somehow? It was a small thread of hope, but the Doomguide’s spirit clung to it.

_Please… Please let them be alive._

\------------------------------------------------------

“Master Aldanon, here is a map with the location you requested.”

The sage’s butler entered the library of Crossroad Keep, a large roll of parchment in his hands. He opened it on the table next to Aldanon and pointed to a location that had been marked in bright red ink. Aldanon himself looked at the butler with a puzzled expression on his face.

“I don’t recall asking you for anything,” he replied quizzically, brow furrowing.

At this, the butler’s eyes widened, and he began stuttering. “B-but… you d-did ask for it, the location of-”

“Spit it out, boy! What exactly was it that I was looking for?”

“Master, you didn’t say _what_ … you simply said you were searching for an area nearby that likely wasn’t able to be detected with magic. We found a similar location in the mountains east of Neverwinter – a place where scrying spells cannot penetrate,” the butler insisted.

“And I do believe that's _exactly_ what we’ve been looking for,” Sand remarked. The elf had been lingering in the shadows nearby, and he now stepped forward with great interest sparkling in his eyes, turning the map on the table so he could analyze it more closely.

“Wow,” Qara remarked snidely, “books really are good for something after all.”

Sand cast the sorceress a withering glare in response. “Why don’t you make _yourself_ good for something and fetch the Captain, hmm?”

“I’m not your errand girl!” she retorted.

“Someone say something about the Captain?” Rhaine’s head poked into the doorway of the library. “What is it?”

At that, the hedge wizard grinned widely at her. “I do think we just found Ammon Jerro’s Haven.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Everyone but Zhjaeve had decided to come along with Rhaine to this so-called “Haven”; the gith was still weary from her journey to Arvahn, and so she wished to stay with Aldanon to conduct research in the library. The remaining companions, then, found themselves in an arid crater carved deep into the mountains. The air was thick and heavy, the smell of sulfur permeating the atmosphere, and a yellow haze hung upon the horizon. Before them, built into the side of a fissure, was the Haven itself – a tall granite tower illuminated by alien glowing runes. The dry ground cracked under their weight as they cautiously approached it, their heels kicking up a fine dust all the while.

At last, they stopped in front of a pair of gates. There, a gigantic iron golem barred the way, a pedestal situated in front of it. The plinth was worn from wind and weather and stained on its surface with what appeared to be blood…

Shandra looked up at the golem, speaking tentatively, “Uh… I’m a Jerro. Can you let me in?”

The voice that replied to her request was ringing and metallic. “You may be a Jerro, but you must shed a drop of your blood as proof.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Rhaine with a weak smile. “Far better than a pint, eh? All right. Here goes.”

The former farmer then took her knife from her belt and made a small incision in her thumb. She hissed in pain from the cut, but held it over the pedestal until a single drop fell upon the stone. “There. Now wha-”

But Shandra was cut off as she suddenly vanished in a bright light, and the gates to the tower slowly ground their way open. The iron golem wordlessly stood aside to allow the rest of them entry.

“Great,” Qara mumbled under her breath.

“Let’s go, quickly,” Rhaine pulled her blade from its sheath. “She could be in trouble.”

At that, they made their way into the Haven, but the gates instantly sealed behind them – they would have to find another way out, it seemed. And as they turned into a small chamber ahead of them, the companions once again found themselves face-to-face with none other than Mephasm. The devil was bound in yet another summoning circle, a strange semi-circular device standing behind him.

“Oh, no, not you again,” Neeshka muttered darkly.

The Pit Fiend grinned in reply, sharp rows of teeth flashing in the light. “We meet again, little one.”

In a flash, she drew her dagger from her hip. “Call me that again and you’ll regret it.”

“Easy, Neeshka,” Rhaine warned, holding her arm out to bar the tiefling’s way. “I’ll deal with him… follow my lead, all right?”

The tiefling reluctantly nodded, sheathing her blade once more. “All right, all right. But never trust _anyone_ as polite as him. He gives me the holies…”

Rhaine turned to Mephasm, then, hand on her hip as she asked, “So how did you get caught this time?”

Mephasm sighed heavily. “The warlock who summoned those demons in the githyanki caves bound me here… such that my True Name cannot even break me free. His might and will are great, and he makes this tower his home. He works out of a laboratory at its center, where he gains his energy from the tensions between the other demons and devils trapped here.”

“Do you know who he is?” she pressed.

“Of course not. You know as well as I do the power of names… he wears anonymity like a cloak,” the devil replied simply.

Suspicions rising, Rhaine raised an eyebrow critically at the devil. “I think you are being less than honest with me.”

Mephasm grinned again. “Of course I am. And I’ve deceived you once before as well. This warlock is the master of Zaxis and me. It was not the gith who summoned me in those caves. It was he. I was to keep the githyanki captive in their own stronghold if Zaxis failed his task. But in you I saw a way to release myself from my bonds, and I did not think it prudent for me to inform you of my true master. Unfortunately, he found me again and ensured I could not escape this time.”

“And I’m assuming that you want to be freed again?” Rhaine replied flatly.

“Only one of Jerro blood could do that, I’m afraid,” Mephasm answered.

“She’s here. Shandra Jerro,” the Doomguide explained. “She is how we got in this place to start with. But she’s disappeared somehow.”

The devil’s eyebrows rose in response. “You know something I don’t, for once. And if she has been taken from your side, you must find her quickly. She is in grave danger here.”

“Why? Shouldn’t she be the safest one of us all?”

“I cannot say, as even my words are bound by magics,” the Pit Fiend answered with a shake of his head, “But I will help you find her as much as I am able. And if you wish to get into the laboratory at the center of the tower, you will need my aid as well. Do you see this portal behind me? It allows me to summon forth servants from my plane if I so wish them. There are other powerful demons and devils bound here just as I am, and they have portals of their own. I can divert the portals’ path to the laboratory, but I cannot do so alone. You will need to convince three others to do the same, and no doubt they will have their own demands of you.”

“And why should I believe a word you say after you’ve already lied to me once?” Rhaine quipped.

“Because you have no other choice; if you wish to proceed, it is what you must do. Now go, I’ve done all that I can.”

He then turned from them, directing his attention to the portal and a tendril of scarlet magic wound itself around one of the spires that adorned the arch. Rhaine reluctantly crossed the room, approaching a corridor, gesturing for her friends to follow. She did not relish the idea of serving the devils and demons in the tower, but if it meant finding Shandra and getting into the laboratory, she had to do it. Casavir and Neeshka both followed closely behind her, the former out of protectiveness and the latter out of curiosity.

Beyond, in similar chambers to Mephasm’s, were indeed more bound devils and demons of various ranks. Rhaine managed to enlist the help of Hezebel, an erinyes; Koroboros, another Pit Fiend who, unlike Mephasm, did not disguise himself as humanoid; and Blooden, a succubus. Thankfully, their predicted favors were seemingly rather mundane ones… underhanded jabs at each other more than anything else. Once they each channeled their power towards the central portal, it opened into a tunnel of scarlet energy.

The Doomguide was worried that they had yet to find Shandra. Perhaps she was in the laboratory already? But then, suddenly, the farmer’s voice came out of nowhere, resonating within Rhaine’s mind, and from the astonished looks on her companions’ faces, they heard her, too.

_Can you hear me?_

Rhaine blinked, and then thought her response, _Shandra?_

_This place is sealed by devils and demons. Listen to me… they say their master is the King of Shadows._

_What? How?_

_I don’t know… but I don’t think they were lying._

_Shandra, where are you?_

But then the link severed.

“We should be wary,” Casavir said after a moment. “Shandra may be being manipulated by these denizens.”

“Yes,” Elanee agreed. “They’ve already used us to gain advantages over one another. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were doing the same to her.”

“Right. We’ll need to keep an eye out for her,” Rhaine answered with a nod. “Until then, let’s get to this laboratory. And if the King of Shadows is here, we _will_ stop him.”

Together, they stepped through the red portal. They emerged in a small, circular room, glowing runes inscribed on the walls. Many bookshelves were full to bursting with tomes, and several alchemical benches were laden with potions and ingredients of all sorts. It appeared to be devoid of any inhabitants. For now.

Rhaine took a cautious step forward, towards one of the bookshelves, when a shrieking siren suddenly split the air, making her jump in fright.

“And that would be the alarm that signals the owner of this place to take care of whatever foolish intruder dared enter his sanctum,” Sand remarked dryly, slowly closing his eyes in sheer exasperation.

“Good,” Khelgar replied, readying his fists. “I’m ready for a fight!”

In a burst of white light, the warlock who had slain Melia at the Moonstone Mask appeared before them, the tattoos on his head glowing brightly in the darkness of the tower. He approached the group, then, his face contorted in an expression of anger, his orange eyes as intense as his tattoos.

“Intruders,” he growled threateningly, “unbidden and unwelcome. Are you prepared to pay the price for your trespass? How you managed to get in here is beyond me, but it is a grave mistake that will soon be-”

He paused abruptly, looking over Rhaine with a sudden look of surprise, “And you have brought gifts. You carry the shards, even one _inside_ of you. Let me take them off your hands… and from your corpse.”

The laboratory was immediately transformed into a battleground of spells. The melee fighters were forced to hide themselves behind shelves and magical devices as the warlock deftly kept anyone from getting too close to him. The air quickly filled with snapping and popping as magic was cast and deflected again and again, the smell of ozone gradually permeating the room. Rhaine tried to keep her companions in the fight, staying on the defensive by casting shields, prayers, and blessings upon them all. She also attempted to strip the warlock of his own shields multiple times with dispelling magics, but failed time and again – his power seemingly endless.

Finally, after Sand, Qara, Elanee, and Rhaine had almost completely drained their repertoire of spells, the warlock ceased his attacks at last, kneeling from sheer exhaustion. His armor was scorched from where Qara’s fire magic had penetrated his wards, and Sand’s summoned sword floated in front of the man, its point held ready at his throat.

“You…” he gasped. “You think you’ve won?”

“Where have I heard that phrase before?” Rhaine muttered.

“You are all fools! This Haven… is my source of power,” the warlock growled.

“‘King of Shadows’, my tail!” Neeshka jibed from behind an alchemy bench.

“Something is wrong. This cannot be the King of Shadows,” Casavir observed warily.

The warlock straightened, violet magic wrapping around him as it was siphoned from the runes on the sides of the chamber and instantly restored his reserves. “You and your friends are stronger than I anticipated. But I will bear these indignities no longer! This place is my _weapon_! I can harness its energy, turn the walls to fire, burn the air in your lungs, and-”

Suddenly, Shandra’s voice cut through the warlock’s speech, _You can’t beat him! It’s the demons… they’re granting all his power!_

_Shandra, get out of here!_

_Look, there is one way to stop him. But it’s going to require some blood being spilt. Mine._

_Shandra, listen to me, we’re not beaten yet. Just get out!_

_No! I’m not letting you die, not after all we’ve been through together._

“- did you think you could really come here and survive?”

The warlock began to ready his magic again, when suddenly he doubled over, groaning in obvious pain.

“What… _what have you done?_ ”

And then, his glowing eyes widened in revelation. “The binding circles!”

He then threw his hands into the air and immediately vanished from sight, teleporting away.

At that, Neeshka stomped her foot in sheer frustration. “ _Tell_ me he did not just run from us! Oooh, he’s makin’ me mad!”

“If he escapes, we’ll have to fight him again, and he’ll be prepared for us,” Casavir warned. “We must pursue him!”

Rhaine wordlessly ran for the portal, her companions close behind.

\------------------------------------------------------

Shandra stood before Mephasm, blood dripping from a cut in her arm. She swayed woozily with the loss of it, trying to focus on the Pit Fiend before her. He seemed to behold her with a certain sympathy in his eerie yellow eyes.

“What you have done is brave, but foolish, Shandra Jerro,” he said simply.

But then a man suddenly manifested at Mephasm’s side. His face bore an expression of shock, anger, and desperation all at once.

“ _You!_ ” he accosted her. “You did this! You destroyed the summoning circles! You set the deadliest creatures in the Lower Realms free! And in so doing, you have earned death.”

A wave of scarlet magic rushed from his hands and washed Shandra in a sickly glow, seeming to age her upon impact, until her skin was wrinkled deeply and her hair was long and snow-white. The power of his magic instantly brought her to her knees, a fragile old woman, and aging still…

“I know, grandfather,” she croaked as the life began to leave her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

And Shandra Jerro sank to the floor, dead.

Utter silence filled the room afterwards, heavy and oppressive. The warlock’s mouth hung agape, and he stared at her corpse for many moments, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. At last, he glanced backwards to Mephasm. “What? This is impossible! All of my kin were slain in the Shadow War…”

“Blood finds a way, Ammon,” the Pit Fiend replied knowingly. “Always.”

“You speak lies!”

“You know what I speak is truth! Only Jerro blood could have broken the circles,” Mephasm snapped. “There are laws… and when one carries such laws too far, they will take you to where I go now.”

A wreath of flame then engulfed the Pit Fiend as he returned to his place in the Hells, leaving the warlock alone in shock.

\------------------------------------------------------

The friends stepped through the portal to find the warlock on the other side, standing next to an aged corpse that wore Shandra’s armor.

Rhaine clenched the hilt of _Touch of Death_ as realization flooded her. “You son of a-”

“He,” Neeshka began, eyes wide in utter shock, “He… killed Shandra! Let’s gut him!”

The warlock held up his hands to stall them. “Kill me now, and we will all die. This place will collapse to rubble around us. Is that what you want?”

His strangely-sorrowful gaze returned to Shandra’s body, and there were obvious tears in his eyes. “In my blindness, I have done a great wrong. But it is something that may yet be rectified. I have enough power left to take us from this place.”

And with that, he teleported them all away without another word. They rematerialized together on the dusty ridge that overlooked the Haven, and they watched, then, as the tower instantly crumbled, entombing Shandra within its ruins. Rhaine muttered the Passing as it slowly fell, bidding a final farewell to the noble farmer who had sacrificed her life for them all.

\------------------------------------------------------

Once back at Crossroad Keep, they all gathered together in the Phoenix Tail; Sal had vacated the inn so the companions could have their privacy. The warlock Ammon Jerro faced the fireplace, staring deeply into the flames, while Rhaine and Zhjaeve stood behind him, watching him intently. The other companions ringed the perimeter of the inn, talking amongst themselves.

“So,” Bishop remarked at length, “that’s the famous Ammon Jerro – _not_ dead after all. Glad we sorted that out before running into his little labyrinth of demons.”

“Yes,” Sand added, an element of awe in his voice, “and much more powerful than tales ever indicated.”

Qara snorted. “More powerful than some wizard, anyway.”

“More powerful than _you_ , Qara,” Sand retorted. “As we witnessed firsthand.”

“So what do we do with him, now?” Khelgar inquired. “Throw him to the Watch?”

“Throw him off the Docks?” Neeshka piped up.

“Tell me you’re joking?” Bishop rolled his eyes. “He’ll send the whole district to the Abyss and then come after _us_. I say we get what we need from him and then dispose of him… no one needs to know.”

“He must face justice for what he has done,” Casavir commented, “but we will not answer murder with murder.”

“I just don’t understand,” Grobnar interjected, hanging his head in sorrow. “What made Shandra do what she did? It makes no sense at all.”

“There is no sense to be made of it, Grobnar,” Elanee replied gently. “We must simply accept.”

Casavir then inclined his head to Rhaine’s stiff form across the room. “It is our leader I am concerned about.”

The Doomguide herself, whilst her companions were speaking to each other, had been listening to Zhjaeve. It seemed that the gith believed Ammon could be a powerful ally, and she urged Rhaine to speak to him.

“ _Know_ that Ammon Jerro is a broken man, now,” the githzerai warned her, “and that makes him dangerous. But it also makes him of use. Please, speak with him and learn where his allegiances lie. And _know_ that all he has done, both good and evil, has been to fight the King of Shadows and his minions.”

Rhaine nodded grimly in understanding and cautiously approached the warlock. Ammon heard her footsteps and lifted his head, but he did not turn around to face her.

“Why did you bring her there?” he asked at last, voice quiet. “You knew that even though she was of my bloodline she was not strong enough to survive.”

“Last time I checked you were supposed to be dead,” Rhaine retorted dryly, “and we needed to know what information you had stored in the Haven. She would still be alive if _you_ hadn’t killed her.”

“Had you known what you were getting into and left everything to me, as you should have, then she would be still alive and I would still be at full power!” Ammon snapped, eyes flashing. But then he paused for a moment and sighed heavily. “But I do bear responsibility for her death, and the King of Shadows has gained a victory over us without striking as single blow.”

“So,” Rhaine continued at length, “if you aren’t the King of Shadows, then what _is_ your part in all this?”

He swallowed, silent for several breaths before he answered, “I have fought the King of Shadows before. I fought him long ago, before Neverwinter even knew the threat he posed – both to the city and to all the Realms. I made pacts, studied him, tried for years countless to learn his weaknesses. And even after all this time, I have met with few victories.

“You know the Ritual of Purification, yes? I’ve already completed part of it. So before you think about killing me for my ‘crimes,’ think on this - without the Ritual in its entirety, we cannot strike at the King of Shadows, and we will have lost the battle before it is even begun. And if _my_ heart stops beating, we will all die.”

This time, it was Rhaine who was silent. What a way to blackmail. It seemed that, until their common enemy was defeated, Ammon would escape justice. It did not settle well with her at all. Shaking her head, she continued the interrogation.

“I do know about the Ritual, but that doesn’t seem to be enough,” she replied at last.

The warlock nodded. “The King of Shadows is weak to only one other thing. When he tore a rift into the Astral Plane and threatened the cities of the githyanki, they battled against him wielding hundreds, if not thousands of their silver swords. But there was only _one_ blade that could touch him, and that was the Silver Sword of Gith. I wielded that blade against him many years ago at the Battle of West Harbor, when you were but a child – the same battle that shattered the weapon and buried one of its shards in your chest.”

“ _Kalach-cha_ ,” Zhjaeve murmured.

“And whether you believe it or not,” Ammon continued firmly, “ _you_ are now that weapon. The more shards you gather, the stronger that weapon becomes. And if we are to have any hope against the King of Shadows, we must have both the sword _and_ the Ritual. We must find a way to reforge the blade.”

The Doomguide’s brow furrowed. “How was it broken to begin with?”

The warlock shook his head in frustration. “That is something I have been trying to find out ever since it shattered, but I have come up with nothing. Perhaps it is bound to the will of the wielder, and I was not strong enough to keep it whole. I do not know. Either way, now that the sword has been broken, we have already been weakened considerably.”

Rhaine sighed heavily as she absorbed all of this information. “If you know so much about the King of Shadows, then tell me… what does he want? Why is he so relentless that he will not give up a fight after thousands of years?”

Ammon snorted. “It is simple: he was the Guardian of the Illefarn, and he is still. Even with his corruption, he yet believes he is protecting the Illefarn people. He will stop at nothing to destroy everything that threatens his empire. Once he breaks free of his prison in the Shadow Plane, he will carve a path of carnage all the way to the Netherese City of Shade. He will consume first the Mere, then the entire Sword Coast, even Neverwinter itself. Life matters not to him. His primary target will be you, then me, and then anyone else foolish enough to stand in his way.”

“Why do you want to stop him?” she asked, slightly wary of the warlock’s reasoning.

“Why do _I_ wish to stop the King of Shadows?” Ammon repeated incredulously. “I think that’s a question you should ask yourself, Doomguide, since your motivation during all of this has been unclear from the start. Does he threaten you, specifically? Or would you just sleep better at night knowing that a creation of the Illefarn Empire was as dead and buried as they are?”

“I fight him because I must,” Rhaine replied curtly, her brow knitted. “Because if I don’t, who will? Because if I have the power to destroy him, then it is my responsibility to do so. Because the people of the Sword Coast do not deserve the death and destruction that he will bring should he return. And because I am sworn to destroy the undead, wherever they may be found, no matter how powerful, in order to preserve the living.”

“Then I think you will find we are of the same mind on the matter, even if our methods differ,” Ammon answered gruffly.

“And how do I know I can trust you?”

“Because you have no other choice!” he spat. “I will be your greatest ally in your fight against him, both in knowledge and power. But the latter has been much depleted, and I no longer have my demons in my thrall. If you wish to face him on the open battlefield, you will need an _army_.”

At that moment, Grobnar whistled to get Rhaine’s attention. Glancing his way, she saw Sir Nevalle standing in the doorway of the inn, leaning against the jamb for support. He appeared wearied, and dark circles had settled under his eyes. The knight inclined his head to Rhaine when she met his gaze.

“Captain,” he began, slightly breathless. “You no doubt have heard… Fort Locke has fallen. Shadows are gathering along the edge of the Mere and are beginning to move northward. You must go to Lord Nasher at once, and come alone. There are things you will hear that are for your ears only. Ride hard and fast for Neverwinter, and once you arrive, head straight for Castle Never. Do not delay.”

He then spun on his heels, presumably to leave for the city ahead of her.

Rhaine did not hesitate. She packed what things she thought she might need, then tacked Angel and galloped from the Keep. If the King of Shadows was already on the move, as it seemed he was, then they were in a race against time itself.


	14. Shadows Rising

When Rhaine arrived at Castle Never a few days later, she was surprised to find that the place was crawling with visitors, most of them from the varied nobility of Neverwinter. They all nodded and smiled to her as she entered the Great Hall as if they knew her personally; it was slightly disconcerting to witness, as the Doomguide herself recognized almost none of the faces she saw there…

Then, Sir Nevalle finally stepped forward through the throng to greet her, garbed in his usual blue tunic of the Nine. He looked a little more rested than he had at the Phoenix Tail, however, and he met her eyes with a sparkling gaze in the sconcelight.

“You’ve arrived. Come, follow me,” he said, beckoning to her with a slight grin.

Brow furrowing in puzzlement, she followed him, but hesitantly, wondering what was going on that had everyone in such a good mood. It was… _odd_ ; most nobles came to Castle Never to complain about problems both serious and insignificant, not to chat happily about current events – none of which were particularly joy-inspiring, at the moment.

Ultimately, Nevalle led her to a small side room adjacent to the main hall, closing the door behind her so they could speak in private.

“There is a growing darkness to the south,” the knight began after a moment, “and Crossroad Keep is our best hope of keeping this army of the King of Shadows from reaching the city; it will play a great role in the war to come – that is certain. We are still awaiting official word from Fort Locke, but we fear the worst. As such, Crossroad Keep is the only other fortification that stands between the Mere and Neverwinter.

“The news is not all ill, however. Lord Nasher has prepared something for you, for all of your hard work on behalf of Neverwinter,” he then turned to a long table nearby, where a cloak and sword were laid out atop it. The deep blue cloak bore the eye of Neverwinter upon it in stark white thread, and the sword appeared to be a ceremonial blade, crafted of silver and gold. Nevalle took the cloak and fastened it about her shoulders before belting the elaborate sword to her waist, opposite _Touch of Death_. All the while, Rhaine stood in uncertain silence.

_What is all this?_

“These are the trappings of knighthood, Rhaine,” he explained at length, grin widening as he placed his hands on her shoulders, “and Nasher will soon make you a true knight in his service. As the days grow ever darker, the need for heroes grows ever greater, and Lord Nasher wishes to recognize you as one of our finest.”

Her jaw dropped, and she reeled in shock.

She was going to be knighted - the little red-haired waif from West Harbor, a priestess in service to Kelemvor, was going to be _knighted_.

At last, she found her voice, and she spoke past the lump in her throat. “I… I thank you, Sir Nevalle. I am truly honored.”

He shook his head. “It is _you_ who have built the keep into the force that it is. It is _your_ name that is echoed upon the lips of the men and women here. Even Sand has been known to say a kind word or two about you,” he added with a wink. Then, placing his hand behind her back, he gently pushed her forward again, back through the door through which they’d passed. “Come, the ceremony will take place in the Great Hall. Many nobles from all over Neverwinter have gathered to see it.”

So _that_ was it. They were here to attend her knighting…

As they left the side chamber, Nevalle continued on, retaking the lead. “Your companions and the people you have gathered to Crossroad Keep believe in you, and through you, they believe in Neverwinter. It is no small thing you have done…”

Immediately upon the pair’s reentry into the Great Hall, the nobles saw the cloak and sword that now graced her form, and they began to cheer her name, their applause ringing upon the walls. Rhaine felt a blush upon her cheeks as she walked beside Nevalle, a sheepish smile dancing upon her lips.

But then, suddenly, she heard a loud, metallic clatter ahead. A high-pitched wail then erupted within the castle, and the wrought iron gates to the throne room and side halls abruptly slamming shut and locking themselves.

Nevalle’s sword leapt into his hand, and he immediately crouched into a fighting stance. “By the gods, it’s the ancient alarm! I never thought I’d live to see this day – we are under attack!”

Rhaine had just readied _Touch of Death_ in response when a pair of vampires knocked down the doors to the castle, laughing wickedly. Half a dozen red-eyed wraiths then manifested around the room in clouds of black smoke, and the crowd around them quickly dissolved into panicked, screaming chaos.

“They are here for Nasher!” Nevalle shouted over the din. “We’ve got to get to him!”

Rhaine, however, needed to stop the wraiths before they slaughtered the defenseless citizens. She held her arms aloft, calling her power to her. A wave of white energy then surged forth from her body and slammed into the incorporeal undead, successfully immobilizing them and preventing them from doing further harm. Immediately, the royal guards began to make quick work of those ghostly foes with their enchanted halberds while Nevalle and Rhaine turned their attention to the deadlier vampires.

The two warriors fought back to back, blades whirring through the air as they attempted to slay the bloodsuckers quickly, but the vampires, with their supernatural speed, dodged almost every blow thrown their way. Finally, though, one of the royal guards managed to come up behind Nevalle’s foe and behead it, allowing the knight to whirl around and plunge his sword under Rhaine’s uplifted arm, sinking the blade into the other vamp’s torso. The Doomguide herself followed up with a horizontal swing, removing its head from its shoulders as well.

“We need to find a more defensible position,” Nevalle gasped. “There’s a guard room ‘round the corner from here. We can make our stand there.”

After, the knight raised his voice to address the nobles, who had huddled up against the walls and under furniture for lack of anywhere else to go. “Everyone into the guard room, quickly! Follow me!”

Upon his command, Rhaine assisted in herding the citizens after Nevalle alongside the royal guards. They brought up the rear of the group, and when they had all packed themselves into the small guard room, Nevalle shut the door and barred it. Within, a Tyrran priest who had managed to get caught in the castle corridors began healing those nobles who had been wounded in the attack.

It was then Nevalle leaned heavily against the door and addressed Rhaine. “The castle is sealed. It is part of the ancient defenses, should Castle Never be attacked directly – something we thought would never happen. Unfortunately, it has also cut us off from Lord Nasher. You must get to him somehow.”

“I’ll do my best,” Rhaine replied grimly, gripping her sword as she nodded her understanding. “Do you have a plan?”

The knight’s brow furrowed as he thought for a moment. “Look behind the tapestries. One of them should hide an entrance to Neverneath, the catacombs beneath the castle. It has always been closed to us, but it is said that when the palace is in danger, a path will open for defenders. Use that to get to Lord Nasher’s side, and we will try to be there when the defenses are lifted.”

He then raised the door bar to let her out of the room and closed it again behind her, securing it once more; she was on her own from there. Rhaine stood still for a moment, peering down a long corridor ahead of her that branched both left and right. There was a floor-length blue tapestry every twenty feet on either side of every hall. This would take time, and time they likely didn’t have. Face hard with determination, however, she began her search.

The halls of the castle were littered with the dead, mostly guardsmen but some civilians as well. Blood pooled on the ceramic tiles and had been smeared along the walls by the wounded and dying. She did not have the time at the moment to take care of the deceased individually, and so she repeated the Passing under her breath over and over as she went, all the while lifting tapestry after tapestry in the hopes of finding the hidden entrance to Neverneath. She encountered a few more vampires and Shadow Priests along the way, but they were isolated and relatively easy for her to handle on her own.

Finally, she encountered a wall panel that was a little different from the rest. A small stone, slightly lighter than the others, jutted out from the wall by just a fraction of an inch. Tentatively, she pressed it. It immediately withdrew into the stone around it, and with the loud sound of granite grating upon granite, the wall panel slowly ground downwards into the floor, revealing a dimly lit staircase that led into the catacombs.

It became apparent, then, that Neverneath had been built as a singular long, winding corridor. At every turn, a statue of the founder of the city, Lord Halueth Never, would present a question to her – usually concerning the history or defenses of the city. Once answered correctly, the doors barring the path ahead would open, allowing further access. After successfully answering many such questions and ultimately swearing fealty to Neverwinter, Rhaine finally found herself in the tomb of Lord Never himself. The noble elf had been laid to rest in an open sarcophagus, a magical shield over the coffin protecting his body from decay… and his possessions from potential thieves. Surrounding him were eight magical swords floating midair – quite similar to the one that had been gifted to her – almost as if poised to attack, but they did not move to do so.

Not yet, at least.

As the Doomguide looked upon them warily, a soft voice suddenly emanated from the coffin, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

“One of my Nine is missing. Take his place to join my side.”

Frowning, she glanced around. Nine statues ringed the chamber, but one was obviously lacking his sword. Following a hunch, she walked up to it, drawing her own ceremonial blade and sliding it into a thin slot at the base, where the original stone sword would have rested its tip. The protective blue aura around the sepulcher dissipated, as if inviting her forth, then. Rhaine approached it carefully, yet wary of the floating swords, but they still made no move against her. Peering into the coffin, then, she noticed that Lord Never had been buried with some sort of ivory control rod alongside him, the golden eye of Neverwinter adorning one end. Tentatively, she lifted it from its resting place, and another stone door at the opposite end of the room receded in response, revealing an ascending stairwell.

Smiling to herself, the Doomguide jogged across the room and up the staircase. The sounds of battle became louder as she went, and she tightened her grip on _Touch of Death_ , readying herself for more combat. Pushing her hand into what appeared to be a marble door, she found that it was in fact a moving panel immediately behind Lord Nasher’s throne. Beyond, Nasher himself and two royal guards dueled another Shadow Reaver, and they were growing wearier with each swing…

Without hesitation, Rhaine leapt into battle with the Reaver, and with her aid, they finally drove the foul creature off. He retreated just as they delivered a killing blow, predictably teleporting himself back to the safety of the Vale of Merdelain. Upon his disappearance, though, the sealed iron gates opened themselves once more, and the wailing alarm ceased at last. Nevalle and the other guards rushed into the throne room, looks of relief on their faces when they discovered their liege-lord was still alive.

The Lord of Neverwinter leaned on his throne for support as he caught his breath, his lips twisted into an angry sneer. “ _Assassins_. So this is how our enemy fights – with shadows instead of steel!”

“Are you all right, milord?” Rhaine asked, sheathing her sword.

He nodded. “I am unharmed, but… this King of Shadows. His forces are powerful, and,” he paused suddenly, brows lifting as his eyes flicked to the ivory rod in her hand, “is that the Rod of Never? Let me see it.”

Rhaine handed the rod to him, and he examined it for a moment in silence before shaking his head. “I had heard that the Rod rested below the castle, but none were able to reach Lord Never’s tomb. I assume that the ancient alarms opened the way. Well, then. With this Rod, I should be able to open some of Castle Never’s oldest secrets. It seems some good has come of this attack after all.”

Nasher then exchanged looks with Nevalle before returning his gaze to Rhaine. “I think this foe of ours fears to face us on the battlefield. He fears Neverwinter and all her knights… of which you are now a part.”

The Doomguide bowed at the waist. “I thank you, Lord Nasher.”

He held up his hand. “Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t given you your orders.”

“But milord,” Nevalle interjected abruptly, “there are certain rites for inducting knights that must be-”

Nasher rolled his eyes. “Nevalle, I knighted you at Redfallow’s Watch, in the mud, with orcs surrounding us. Ceremonies can _wait_.” He then turned to Rhaine again, sword in hand. “Now, kneel and be knighted.”

The priestess instantly knelt as commanded, closing her eyes, and the tip of Nasher’s blade tapped once on her head and twice on each shoulder. After, she rose, smiling broadly, and he beamed at her with almost fatherly pride upon his features. “Congratulations are in order, young lady. You have served Neverwinter above and beyond the call of duty, and you have risked your life for this city and its people not once, not twice, but many times over. If there is anything that can stand against our foe, it is you and the fortress I have granted you. And thus, I offer you another honor.

“The death of Melia weakened the Neverwinter Nine greatly, and her absence leaves a void that must be filled. Thus, I offer her former position to you, Rhaine Alcinea… so that you may join Sir Nevalle and Lord Callum at my side as one of the city’s staunchest protectors.”

Feeling rather like she couldn’t refuse even if she wanted to, Rhaine bowed again. “I am truly grateful, my lord. I accept your offer.”

“Very well,” Nasher replied with a nod. “I bestow upon you the mantle of the Neverwinter Nine.”

“And a much-deserved title it is, Knight-Captain,” Nevalle added with a dip of his head. “Welcome to our ranks.”

“But,” Lord Nasher continued, “on to the matters at hand. You have done more to halt this enemy’s advance than any of my knights. When he strikes, you are there to stop him - but that is no longer enough. I am _tired_ of waiting for this enemy to show himself. I want you to find him, Rhaine. I want you to find this monster and make him answer for every single life he has cut short! And if he crosses Neverwinter again, I want it to be the _last time_.”

He then turned to the guardsmen and nobles who had gathered behind Rhaine. “To the servants of Neverwinter before me – all fighting men must take to the field to face our foe! You have seen one of his servants… as terrible as it is, it can be beaten, and so can its master. You must spread the word. Help your neighbors evacuate their homes. We cannot allow our people to be placed in harm’s way. Go, and do what you can to prepare yourselves!”

Their responses were varied. Some rushed to do as told, while others yet leaned against the walls to rest, and still others cradled bandaged wounds. Nevalle himself turned to Nasher once more.

“A strategy must be formed. These Reavers… whatever they are, the Greycloaks cannot fight them – cannot kill them. If there is no way to destroy them-”

“They are but pawns,” Nasher interrupted. “Powerful, yes. But they aren’t the true threat. We must find a way to get to the base our enemy is striking from. If he can send his forces out without fear of retaliation, then all we can do is fall back.”

“We will need more men, milord. We are stretched thin as it is,” Nevalle remarked with a shake of his head.

“Not just men,” Nasher replied, returning his attention to Rhaine. “We must make allies with other peoples. This King of Shadows threatens not just us, but all of the Sword Coast. I need answers, information, as many soldiers as you can gather. I need to know how we can kill these Shadow Reavers and how we can reach their master.”

“I shall see to it at once, Lord Nasher,” Rhaine promised firmly, knowing he was right. “I will not fail.”

“Good. Return to Crossroad Keep with Sir Nevalle. I will see to the troops and war efforts,” Nasher ordered. “You must handle the King of Shadows. Out of all of us, no one has a greater chance of exposing his weaknesses than you. I can gather our forces, but _you_ must show me where to march.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine returned to Crossroad Keep with Nevalle, just as Nasher had requested, three days later, both of them garbed in the rich blue tunics and grey riding breeches of the Neverwinter Nine. Rhaine wore her matching knight’s cloak proudly, eliciting a grin from her fellow comrade. As they rode together towards the gates, Rhaine heard some of her Greycloaks begin shouting. A few of them waved to her as she came closer, others saluted. She returned their gestures with a warm smile.

The two knights were dismounting in the courtyard when Rhaine’s friends eagerly approached. Nevalle went on to stable his horse and meet with Kana while the companions surrounded the Knight-Captain herself.

“We heard about the attack on Castle Never,” Casavir spoke first. “It is good to see you are all right.”

“To attack the Castle,” Khelgar shook his head in dismay. “The King of Shadows is gettin’ bold.”

“So,” Neeshka piped up cheerily, “did you get anything with the knighting ceremony? Not that you’d carry it, since I already checked your pockets and your bags.”

“What efforts are being made in the war?” Ammon Jerro demanded impatiently, his tone a gruff one. “Will Nasher commit his forces, at last? And what of Waterdeep and the Lords’ Alliance?”

“ _Know_ that word has already traveled before the _Kalach-cha_ ,” Zhjaeve reminded him. “We are to take the fight to the King of Shadows and gather those who feel as we do.”

“That is correct,” Rhaine confirmed, absentmindedly stroking Angel’s soft muzzle. “Nasher wants us to find as many allies as we can in this war.”

“Good luck with that,” Bishop remarked dryly. “Alliances are made to be broken, if they’re made at all.”

“Clan Ironfist will help,” Khelgar insisted. “They may take some convincing, but they won’t back down from a fight, if it is just.”

“The lizardfolk of the Mere could help us as well,” Elanee added. “They have been driven from their homes just as these people have. We should seek them out and give them a chance to help us.”

“Then it seems we have roads open to us,” Casavir observed, “and an army to build.”

“There is more,” Rhaine continued. “Nasher also wants me to find a way to kill the Shadow Reavers permanently.”

At that, Zhjaeve sighed heavily. “ _Know_ that will not be easy. Every time they are killed, they reform themselves in the Vale of Merdelain. At the present, we can only lose against them.”

“There must be a way,” the paladin replied firmly. “Evil always has a weakness – we just have to _find_ it.”

“Well, that’s the trick, isn’t it?” Bishop snapped. “How long do you look, and where?”

“Pardon me,” Grobnar interjected, “but, sometimes these things come to you. I mean, we’ve already encountered so many allies and people and sorcerers and sages, and we did much of that through serendipity. So, have a little faith, and maybe the answer will to come to us in time.”

“ _Know_ that this may be the best we can hope for,” the githzerai agreed.

“Ultimately,” Rhaine finished, “we have to find a way to get through the Claimed Lands and strike at the King of Shadows directly, somehow.”

Elanee shook her head. “The Claimed Lands kill all life that enter them. We wouldn’t be able to survive it. And movement through the Mere isn’t swift even in the best of times.”

“I don’t think there’s a conventional path to our destination,” Sand commented. “As much as I hate to say it, we should probably ask for Aldanon’s advice on this.”

“Very well,” the Doomguide answered, glancing to each of her companions in turn. Her face bore a hard, determined expression, as it often did as of late. “It is not much, but it is a start. We must follow what leads we have and hope for the best. Meet me in the War Room, and we will formulate a plan. May the gods watch over us all.”


	15. Call to Arms

Whilst Neverwinter evacuated its citizens northwards to Port Llast, Crossroad Keep prepared for war in full. Rhaine made two more structural additions to the keep: a church of Tyr and a tower for the Neverwinter Nine. She also found a new sergeant in Light of Heavens, an aasimar woman who presented herself shortly after the church was completed. Her sister, Joy, also joined the keep’s forces, boosting the troops’ morale by dancing for them at the Phoenix Tail. Rhaine wasn’t certain if it was just her, or if the celestial blood of the two women actually made a difference, but the keep seemed more than a bit livelier after their arrival – as if the light of the sun each morning in fact bore the comforting favor of the gods and reinvigorated those who dwelt there.

With the help of Khelgar, Rhaine managed to forge an alliance with the Ironfist clan of dwarves, as he had proposed. After they had secured the clanhold, Rhaine assisted them in recovering the Belt of Ironfist, a relic of their people. In return, the dwarves promised an alliance with Neverwinter in order to ensure the defeat the King of Shadows. From their home in the Sword Mountains, they sent a hundred of their finest warriors to Crossroad Keep, and they designated Khelgar himself as their new leader.

Furthermore, while Rhaine and the dwarven monk were hunting for the Belt on the slopes of Mount Galardrym, they also defeated a female Red dragon, Tholapsyx, and claimed her massive treasure horde for the keep’s coffers. In addition to hundreds of chests of gold bars and coins, they also seized crates of precious gemstones and ingots of priceless metals. Not only did they walk away filthy rich, but the companions were also celebrated as dragon slayers upon their return.

Elanee was instrumental in establishing yet another alliance with the lizardfolk of the Mere. Having been driven from their swamp homes by the encroaching shadows, the lizardmen threatened to push out the residents of Highcliff, to the point of almost killing the villagers in order to save their own people. With the aid of the druidess, however, Rhaine managed to not only net a truce between the humans and the beastfolk, but she also convinced them to join forces with Neverwinter in routing the King of Shadows from their homeland.

All the while, Aldanon researched a way to reach the deepest parts of the Mere of Dead Men safely. The sage seemed to think that the spreading shadows were strongest on the edges, farthest from their point of origin. As such, he was convinced that the way for them to get to the King of Shadows’s lair with a minimal amount of exposure was to teleport the companions directly into the heart of the swamp. However, they currently lacked the tools to do so, and Aldanon was unsure where exactly they could find such things.

Grobnar, too, made himself useful by having the Greycloaks fetch the deactivated construct from the githyanki caves north of Ember. Once it arrived at the keep, he spent almost all of his time with it, convinced he could find a way to restore it and use it to their advantage. Whenever she passed by, Rhaine would occasionally hear snippets of song coming from the basement as he tinkered on the golem. Whether the gnome was simply singing to pass the time, or actually singing _to_ it, she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to know.

And then, on top of all these encouraging developments, came another pleasant surprise. When Rhaine left the keep and made her way into the courtyard one morning to fetch a report from Pentin and Calindra, she saw Bevil Starling leaning against the wall beside the tower of the Nine.

“ _Bevil_?” She halted in her tracks, eyes wide and unsure if they were deceiving her.

He grinned in response, a little less broadly than his usual smile, but signature Bevil nonetheless. “Greetings, Captain.”

“Don’t you ‘Greetings, Captain’ me!” Rhaine exclaimed, rushing up to him and throwing her arms around his neck. “ _Where have you been, Bevil Starling!?_ ”

“Around,” he replied noncomittally, hugging her back with crushing strength.

Finally, though, she pushed back from him and stared into his sapphire eyes, brow furrowed deeply. “Bevil… I thought you were dead.”

“Yeah,” he glanced downwards at his boots, “I heard about the attack... on West Harbor. I actually left a tenday prior so I could join up with the Greycloaks. I didn’t feel of much use around the town anymore, so I thought I’d do my part in the war.”

She squeezed his shoulders firmly. “Bevil, I’m so sorry about your family. I… I’m afraid it’s my fault-”

“No. No it’s not.” He shook his head fiercely, returning his gaze to hers, a gaze that was startlingly hard. “It’s not your fault. Tarmas came around to our house one night ranting wildly about something that he thought might happen – that he could ‘feel something in the air.’ He offered to take us with him, but mother refused.” He sighed heavily. “She thought he’d finally gone insane, and I couldn’t convince her otherwise. He teleported off somewhere, and I haven’t seen him since.” Shrugging, he paused for a moment, and then added, “I _have_ seen your foster father, though.”

Her eyes widened. “What? Daeghun? Is he all right? Where is he?”

“He left West Harbor a day or two before I did. Packed his things and walked up the road without a word,” Bevil answered, shaking his head once more. “I caught up with him, and we talked a bit, but that was it. Classic Daeghun.”

She blinked. “I wonder where he was headed?”

“I dunno,” Bevil shrugged again. “But he seemed to know exactly what he wanted to do.”

Rhaine sighed, glancing off. She was deeply glad that both Bevil and Daeghun had survived, and she silently thanked Kelemvor for this blessing. But she wondered what her foster father was up to. Did he sense something was going to happen, just like Tarmas had? And moreover, had he gone in search of this threat?

If so, she feared for his safety.

“So,” she said at length, redirecting their focus to the present, “did Brelaina and Cormick send you my way?”

“Yes, Captain,” Bevil replied with a nod.

Rhaine smacked him on the shoulder. “I’m still just Rhaine, Bevil.”

He laughed a little at that. “All right, suit yourself. At least you’re better than Kana.”

“Speaking of which, what does she have you doing, now?”

Bevil rubbed his neck. “Leading road patrols. Not exactly the most exciting work, but it pays just like the rest of it.”

She nodded, stepping back with another firm pat to his shoulder. “All right. I’ll leave you to it, then. But… if you ever need to talk about anything that’s happened, know that I’m here for you.”

Bevil smiled weakly. “Thanks. But I’d prefer to leave everything in the past, at this point. I’ll see you around, Captain.”

He turned away from her, then, headed elsewhere in the keep, and as she returned to her own duties, Rhaine couldn’t help but think that Bevil was hiding something. He seemed much quieter and more brooding than usual, and she highly suspected that something was eating at him inside. Something he didn’t want to reveal. She couldn’t push him to talk to her, of course, but she hoped for his sake that he would.

\------------------------------------------------------

A few days later, as she returned from speaking with Orlen and the other farmers, she was greeted by another welcome sight. Standing beneath an oak tree in the courtyard, was Daeghun. Her foster father met her eyes as she approached, and there was an unusual flicker of a smile on his lips as he looked her up and down, taking in her cloak and uniform.

“The men here call you Knight-Captain, and these walls are yours,” he began, dipping his head to her. “You have come far, my daughter. I see that the moon has been at your back – you look well.”

“Daeghun,” Rhaine mirrored his smile. “It is good to see you again. It has been… a long time.”

“The Mere has grown dark,” he continued grimly, “and many villages needed help leaving before it was too late. I have sought the scent on the breeze to learn of this dark hunter: King of Shadows. More can still be learned, but I have discovered something that I had to tell you at once.”

“What is it?”

Then, out of the corner of her eye, Rhaine saw Elanee approaching them, her head cocked curiously. “I heard one of the scouts say someone was looking for me – oh! Well met,” she stopped upon seeing a fellow wood elf and bowed slightly, “you must be Daeghun Farlong.”

“And you are Elanee, of the Circle of the Mere,” Daughun replied matter-of-factly.

“Once of the Circle, yes,” Elanee corrected with a slight sigh. “What is it that you want of me?”

“As I hounded the trail of the Dark Hunter and his minions, I found something I thought we had lost long ago,” Daeghun answered, looking pointedly at the elven woman. “The druids of our land, the Circle of the Mere, still live.”

“That’s… that’s impossible!” Elanee’s face bore a rare expression of shock as she glanced back and forth between Daeghun and Rhaine. “If they were alive, I would know!”

“I can only venture into the swamp for brief periods,” the ranger elaborated. “The reeds and waters drain the life of all those who come near. I followed the druids, though, and they had a ritual that I think sustained them, even in the Claimed Lands.”

“They must have found a way to restore part of the Mere and keep it from the shadows. If so, we need to find them!” Elanee turned to Rhaine, eyes wide. “They’ll be able to tell us what is going on in the Mere better than anyone, and if we can get them to ally with us, we may be able to reverse what the King of Shadows is doing to the land itself!”

The Doomguide nodded her agreement. “If these druids are as powerful as you say, then they would be valuable allies, indeed.”

“Then you must make haste,” Daeghun interjected, “if this is your chosen course of action.”

“Thank you for bringing this information to us,” Rhaine replied sincerely. “It is very much appreciated.”

“No thanks are necessary – we are at war, and it must be done. Let me mark the location on your map.”

When Rhaine fished the worn parchment out of her pack, her foster father marked the Circle’s location and then officially ended their conversation. “Now, I have other duties I must attend to, both in the defense of the Sword Coast and this castle.”

He turned from her, and without another word began walking purposefully towards the main keep, evidently with some other task in mind. Rhaine and Elanee watched him depart in silence for a moment, before the latter spoke again, “Your father isn’t one for showing emotion, is he? It is difficult to see how he raised you… and you turned out so different.”

“He has his duty,” Rhaine replied with a heavy sigh, “and he takes it very seriously. There is something to respect in such dedication.”

“At any rate,” Elanee pointed to the place Daeghun had marked, “we need to get to the Circle. But reaching them could prove difficult.”

Suddenly, as if on cue, Bishop’s form emerged from the shadows near the inn. “Ah, I thought I heard the pitiful cries of a damsel in distress. Someone had to fill Shandra’s role, eh?”

Upon hearing his voice, Elanee maneuvered to stand between him and Rhaine. “This doesn’t concern you. Stop spying on us.”

Bishop ignored her remark, focusing his attention on the Doomguide. “I thought I might be able to catch your foster father, Rhaine… tell him what a _wonderful_ girl he raised...”

“Watch your tongue, Bishop,” the Knight-Captain growled, brow furrowing as her ire was quickly raised by his purposefully-inflammatory words.

“Oh, I will. But before you slap my hand, why don’t you see if you need a guide, first – since your father was so eager to get away from you,” the ranger quipped.

“They’re on the northeastern reaches of the Mere,” Elanee replied flatly, “near the old settlements where the orcs attacked long ago during their incursion into Neverwinter.”

“That’s near an area the King of Shadows likely hasn’t claimed yet… a good place to look for your dead druid friends,” Bishop rejoined dryly.

“Daeghun said they were alive,” Rhaine insisted.

“Maybe,” Bishop answered with an unconvinced shrug. “Still, if you want to go, I can guide you to a safe port on the edge of the marsh.”

Elanee hesitated. “All right… that would be welcome.”

Rhaine, on the other hand, lifted an eyebrow critically. “Did you just offer help, Bishop? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

He snorted. “It’s not me you should be suspicious of, but that’s up to you. And you don’t have much time. Something tells me those friends of yours have to move around a lot to avoid the shadows.”

“Bishop’s correct,” Elanee added reluctantly, glancing back at Rhaine.

“All right,” he said at length, backing away from the women, “I’ll scout out a path and join you only when need be, it’ll save us a lot of time.”

\------------------------------------------------------

They at last found the lost Circle of the Mere near where Daeghun had indicated, but unfortunately, things were not as they appeared to be. The druids had been twisted by the shadows of the land into thinking that shadow was, in fact, the norm. They had imprisoned Elder Naevan within a tree and had set about re-establishing their power in the “new Mere.” No amount of persuasion on either Elanee’s or Rhaine’s part could convince them that the King of Shadows was a very real threat, and so the two were forced to destroy the corrupted remnants of the Circle for good.

Elder Naevan – the only other druid besides Elanee who knew the threat of shadow for what it was – found himself freed from his bark prison upon his former colleagues’ deaths. He believed that their time in the Mere had finally come to pass, and bid Elanee to go her own way, as he would as well; he did not foresee a time when the Circle could ever be reformed. Thus, the druidess and the priestess returned to Crossroad Keep in silence, disheartened and keenly aware of their devastating loss.

Without the druids, there truly was nothing left to prevent the growing darkness from tainting the very land itself.

\------------------------------------------------------

A few more days after their return, Rhaine received a message from the new Luskan Ambassador, Sydney Natale. Apparently, the Hosttower had made more progress in deciphering the weaknesses of their enemies and wished to conduct a meeting with Rhaine, Zhjaeve, and Qara… but only those three people and at a place of Natale’s choosing. Rhaine was instantly wary of the request, as was Lieutenant Kana, but Nevalle seemed to think that if the Luskans had obtained valuable information, it would behoove the Knight-Captain to humor the Ambassador for now. At his advice, Rhaine assented, and Natale’s messenger led them to a secluded grove off the road to Neverwinter. There, the Ambassador awaited them with a tall bodyguard at her side.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Captain.” Sydney inclined her head politely at Rhaine’s approch, and then looked to Zhjaeve and Qara. “And the gith, I see. And… Qara? Your father is head of the Academy of Neverwinter, is he not?”

“Yes, he is,” the sorceress replied curtly, “but we don’t have that much in common.”

“I’ll say,” the Ambassador’s bodyguard interjected, looking Qara up and down with a skeptical eye. “You’re a dainty one. Must not weigh more than a stone and two pebbles, am I right?”

“You’ll be able to judge for yourself when I’m standing on your charred body,” Qara quipped.

“Jalboun!” Sydney warned, glaring darkly at the bodyguard.

“What?” He threw his hands in the air with a shrug. “Just tryin’ to make conversation with the fiery one, but turns out she’s as cold as the nethers of Icewind Dale.”

“I can see why you’re no longer an officer of Luskan,” the Ambassador retorted. “Now be silent! I hired you for your brawn, not your tongue!”

Those words caused the hairs to stand up on Rhaine’s neck, and her suspicions intensified…

“Yes, _ma’am_.” Jalboun bowed with a flourish. “I’ll just stand here and be quiet like a good lummox.”

Shaking her head, Sydney turned back to Rhaine. “I am sorry I had to send for you by way of messenger, but I have too many eyes watching my movements.”

“You said you had information regarding the Shadow Reavers, yes?” the Doomguide inquired, hoping to get to business and praying her instincts were wrong.

“Indeed. You know of True Names, don’t you, Captain?” The Ambassador grinned broadly. “I have a scroll that contains the True Names of every Shadow Reaver. As it so happens, the Hosttower of the Arcane keeps records of the True Names of its members to use against them should they… violate their contracts. Oh, yes, Captain,” she nodded slowly as she saw Rhaine’s eyes widening, “you heard me correctly. You and your band failed to disrupt the ritual at Crossroad Keep; the Reavers are indeed the Hosttower mages you encountered there, and their leader is indeed Black Garius.”

Rhaine exchanged looks with Zhjaeve. “And how can these True Names be used against them?”

“That is what I am here to determine,” Natale replied. “I cannot read the script this scroll is written in, and therefore cannot interpret the results. You,” she beckoned to Zhjaeve with a snap of her fingers, “can you read this?”

The githzerai hesitantly moved closer to the Ambassador and began looking over the scroll.

“Well?”

Zhjaeve glanced at Sydney, then back to Rhaine. “These names… they can be used to weaken the Reavers – perhaps enough to enable us to kill them permanently.”

“Can you read them aloud?”

“It is difficult, but I can give them voice, y-”

“Then you are of use to me,” Natale replied, returning her attention to Rhaine. “But _you_ are not. I have no need for you, and I care not whether you live or die. You were merely a vehicle for bringing these two to me. Having the names and reciting them are not the same… but the gith can bridge that gap. When I have deciphered what I need, I will return to Luskan and secure my claim as Master of one of the Hosttowers.”

“You are a fool,” Zhjaeve hissed, her spear ready as she whirled back to Rhaine’s side. “In ambushing us, you undermine yourself, when we could have accomplished more as allies.”

“Forget this,” Qara growled. “Let’s just burn this ‘mage’ and _take_ the Names.”

“Ah, Qara,” Sydney simpered. “You would be a _treasure_ to keep if circumstances were not otherwise.”

“If you’re going to kill us,” the sorceress bit back, “go on and try before your perfume does it for you.”

“Oh, I won’t bother with you myself. I’ll let my servant handle you as was intended,” Sydney replied wickedly, withdrawing a small stone from her pocket and holding it aloft. “The Hosttower has been promised your father’s entire Academy as servants to do with as we see fit. The only price is dealing with you – permanently.”

Suddenly, a portal began to open before them, and from it emanated scorching heat – a doorway to the Plane of Fire itself.

“It’s an offer we simply can’t pass up,” Natale continued, stepping back alongside her bodyguard. “Even considering your talent – it is a waste of much potential, but it is best to quench a fire before it grows out of control.”

Out of the portal then stepped an Animus Fire Elemental, matching Qara precisely in shape and stature, but with glowing red eyes and a flaming form. It was a foe that had been crafted from the sorceress’s very life essence, also matching her in skill.

Fighting fire with fire.

Sydney herself stood back and merely watched with a smug expression on her face, expecting the Animus to destroy Qara outright. But what she didn’t bank on was Zhjaeve and Rhaine defending the sorceress, and though the resulting battle was heated – pardon the pun – the elemental was eventually destroyed by the storm of spells, driven back to the plane from which it had been summoned in a burst of flame.

Sydney’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide as Zhjaeve and Rhaine healed what wounds had been dealt them. “I… I can’t believe it. You defeated it!”

“Save it, witch,” Qara snapped, staff still held at the ready. “If that’s your last trick, you don’t have much of a future left.”

“Dear Qara, you are a catch indeed,” the Ambassador answered, quickly recovering. “Such a temper. Jalboun! Earn your pay and slay them!”

It was Rhaine who met the mercenary head on, engaging in an intense melee to prevent him from reaching her comrades. He was skilled with a pair of shortswords, however, battling with a blinding fury of blows that was difficult to counter. All the while, Zhjaeve and Qara engaged in a spellslinging contest with Sydney Natale, who, despite seeming otherwise, was quite the skilled mage herself. It took great effort, and there were many more injuries on all their parts before the Ambassador and her bodyguard was finally slain.

The two healers took several moments to see to theirs and Qara’s wounds again, before the sorceress finally spoke with a haughty tone, “That witch didn’t stand a chance against us, and those Reavers won’t either!”

“Despite the ambush,” Zhjaeve added, a pleased note in her own voice, “this encounter has worked in our favor. We now have the True Names of the reavers - a potent weapon we can use against them. We should return to the keep as soon as possible.”

“Agreed,” Rhaine said with a nod, sighing as she turned to see to Natale’s and Jalboun’s Rites before their departure. “Let me take care of this, and we’ll go.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Ammon Jerro was waiting in the courtyard for them when they returned. His arms were folded across his chest, and he looked expectant.

“So, did your meeting with the Ambassador prove productive?” he asked.

“It did,” Rhaine replied. “But Sydney betrayed us, and we were forced to kill her.”

“Indeed?” Ammon answered with a raised brow. “Somehow, I am not surprised. And what is it that you have recovered from her?”

“Oh, she had their _names_ … so we know what to call them when we’re begging them not to kill us,” Qara quipped with an eye roll, evidently clueless as to what True Names really were and what power they held.

“Their True Names?” Ammon inquired, himself apparently understanding and seemingly surprised. “Let me see them.”

Instead of indulging him, however, Zhjaeve clutched the scroll close to her chest. “ _Know_ that this is the only copy of the Names, and I am the one entrusted with keeping them safe.”

Rhaine cast a sidelong look at the gith. “Zhjaeve, let him see. He won’t harm the scroll, I’m sure.”

“It shall be done, _Kalach-cha_ ,” the githzerai assented at her request, albeit reluctantly.

“A wise decision,” Ammon commented, taking the scroll and looking it over, though with a noticeably careful hand.

“They will be useful in our coming battles with the Reavers,” Zhjaeve explained. “By reading them aloud, the Names may weaken them to the point of mortality. Know that I am the only one that can read the script in which they were written.”

“You are mistaken,” Ammon retorted with a sharp glare. “I can read this script as well as you, gith. This is to our advantage and you know it.”

“Then make a copy of the scroll so that I may keep it for myself, and we shall both wield them as weapons against our foes.”

“I am not your scribe! That is a task for Aldanon.”

“ _Silence_!” Rhaine snapped, her temper flaring at the two’s bickering. “Cease this pointless arguing… it gets us nowhere! I care not how the copies are made, but there will be _two_ scrolls that the _both_ of you will carry. See that it is done and immediately.”

Zhjaeve and Ammon stared at each other long and hard before heading upwards to the keep, presumably to inform Aldanon of their request. It was obvious that this extended conflict was bringing out the worst in everyone, including Rhaine herself. Once free of her companions, the Doomguide immediately made for her quarters and locked the door behind her for a few long hours of peace and seclusion, praying that Kana would not bother her with yet another report…

\------------------------------------------------------

It did not take long for them to find a subject to test the True Name scrolls upon. Kana’s scouts finally located a Reaver moving far too close to Crossroad Keep for comfort, and the companions set out at once to dispatch it. As they approached, Zhjaeve and Ammon kept their distance, the former reciting the True Names as the companions engaged in combat with the foe. A white light emanated from the gith as she recited each of the Names four times, building in intensity with each repetition, until it at last lashed at the Shadow Reaver with blinding power. At that instant, Rhaine struck a killing blow, and the Reaver fell to the ground, dead…

… without returning to Merdelain.

The companions whooped and hollered their victory. _This_ was what could turn the tide of the entire war. And as the Doomguide searched its corpse for anything of use, she found an additional surprise – yet another shard of the Sword of Gith.

“ _Know_ that this shard is, perhaps, the last one we need,” Zhjaeve observed.

“How so? We have hardly enough to make a hairpin, much less a blade,” Khelgar remarked skeptically.

“That is true, but I do not believe we need all of the shards to reforge the Sword of Gith,” Zhjaeve continued. “Now all we must know is _how_ to reform it. And to do that, we must also know how it was broken.”

“Can you provide any insight, Ammon?” Rhaine asked the warlock, brow raised.

“I would if I could,” he replied shortly. “And you are right to ask me. At least _I_ speak plainly, unlike the gith. I was too busy being detained on the Lower Planes after the battle to discover _how_ it was broken. But there is one who has had much time to consider it… one who fought the King of Shadows long ago. A dragon named Nolaloth. He was defeated, unfortunately, but his spirit was chained down to this realm by the Illefarn, as they had promised to find a way to heal him. But, this may prove useless; the last time he and I spoke, we did not part on friendly terms. He has little reason to help us.”

“Regardless,” the githzerai answered, “we need to _know_ what he knows.”

“I agree.” Rhaine nodded resolutely. “If he has the key to putting this sword back together, then we must have it.”

Ammon sighed heavily. “I can show you where he is, but I cannot join you – his hatred for me would override any persuasion you might employ. Also, be warned. The presence of his spirit has given life to an otherwise desolate mountain. Dragons flock to the location in swarms to bask in his power. They see him as a hero of sorts, but they are also covetous of his strength.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Sure enough, the valley where Nolaloth’s spirit was chained was rife with life in the middle of the barren mountains, not far from Ammon Jerro’s Haven. There, in the center of the valley, a gigantic crystal dragon heart pulsed slowly, emanating power as it revolved above a clear pool of water. On the ridges surrounding the valley, two Black dragons perched, watching the newcomers with great interest, though they made no move against the party.

When Rhaine reached a precipice that overlooked a canyon river, the ghostly head of the crystal wyrm himself manifested above her. He was, at first, angry with their intrusion into his resting place, but the Doomguide managed to convince him that they needed his help. Upon hearing the name of his ancient foe, King of Shadows, the dragon’s spirit was more than willing to offer what advice he could to them.

He explained that though a shadow may grow impossibly large, it must always circle its master. To find the crux of the problem, they would have to find the center – the cause – of the darkness. Likewise, if Rhaine was to reform the Sword of Gith, she would have to look past the shards to see the sword itself. She would have to return to the source of the problem – the place where the blade was shattered – to “reforge” it with sheer force of will.

In return for this information, Nolaloth asked only for Rhaine to finish him off by destroying his heart. The githyanki and Ammon Jerro both had come to him for advice, and neither had granted him his last wish. With the fall of the Illefarn people, there was no hope left for the dragon, and all he wanted was to finally die in peace. It was a wish that Rhaine mercifully granted the crystal wyrm, though it incurred the wrath of the watching Black dragons. They were nothing, however, in comparison to Tholapsyx, and the companions were soon on their way back to Crossroad Keep to ask Ammon Jerro where in West Harbor the Sword of Gith had shattered.

\------------------------------------------------------

They returned to the ruined village by way of the Song Portal in the ruins of Arvahn in order to bypass the edges of the growing darkness, as Aldanon had suggested. Past its linked partner in the Mere, the influence of the shadows was strong, the air thick and heavy, seemingly draining their very spirits with its oppressiveness. Shadows took on the forms of Rhaine’s slain childhood acquaintances, but the Doomguide saw past their ruse. The companions fought to reach the scar in the earth, where Zhjaeve had heard the wailing of the child so strongly before.

“This is it,” Ammon said quietly. “This is where the blade shattered when it met that of the King of Shadows so many years ago.”

From his pouch at his belt, then, he took one last piece of the Sword of Gith – the golden hilt. This, he extended to the priestess without a word, and she took it gingerly.

“The sword’s power runs strong here,” Zhjaeve remarked. “But without your will and focus, Rhaine, this is just a place. It is your heart and mind that will forge the blade anew, and without your clear concentration, it cannot be mended. Are you ready?”

Rhaine took in a deep breath and nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good. Come and sit with me,” the githzerai instructed, seating herself cross-legged on one side of the scar. Rhaine hesitantly moved to the other side, laying the shards of the blade directly on the charred dirt.

“Hear not just my words, but the meaning behind them,” Zhjaeve continued as Rhaine settled herself upon the ground. “Zerthimon’s will… my will… your will… let us all be as one. Grasp the hilt and close your eyes.”

The Doomguide nodded again, taking the hilt in her hand and letting her eyelids slowly shut, trying to relax as she focused on the githzerai’s voice. She knew her companions ringed her in a protective circle, and she allowed herself to let down her guard, despite the darkness around them.

_Kelemvor, guide me._

“In this place, broken upon shadow, carved deep into the earth… what once was sundered from two peoples born…”

A metallic throb rose in Rhaine’s chest, in rhythm with her heartbeat.

“… make what was shattered whole again… by the heart that guides the will…”

The throbbing gradually grew greater and greater, the hilt physically pulling towards the scar on the earth, so that the Doomguide was forced to tighten her grip to keep it from flying out of her hand…

“… by the will that guides the hand… by the hand that guides the blade…”

A metallic ringing noise sang through the air, the magnetic force in the hilt pulling Rhaine to her feet with its strength. Still, she kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut, even as a wind formed and she could hear the shards whistling through the air before her. A sharp _clang_ then sounded throughout the empty village, and suddenly, the weight in her hands was much greater…

“And the hand that guides the blade!” Zhjaeve’s voice was tinged with obvious excitement now, but Rhaine didn’t dare open her eyes yet.

“By the gods, I didn’t think it possible,” she heard Ammon whisper in awe.

“Rhaine,” Casavir said gently. “ _Look_.”

She slowly peeled her eyelids open, first one, and then the other. There, in her hand, was the Sword of Gith. The shards had taken their former places on the blade, a ghostly silver light filling in the gaps where slivers had yet to be found. But the weapon had all the weight of a fully-forged sword, and the light that comprised the missing sections of the edge was just as sharp as the actual metal. Though it looked like a patchwork, there was no doubt that the blade was powerful – the shard in Rhaine’s chest hummed with energy, now, filling her with a strange, metallic vibration.

The Doomguide smiled at Zhjaeve. “You did it.”

The githzerai shook her head, and Rhaine could see from the crinkling at the corner of her eyes that she was smiling back. “ _Know_ that it was _you_ who reformed the blade. I merely walked with you.”

“ _How does it feel to be back home, Shard-Bearer_?”

There was a flash of light, and the companions suddenly found themselves surrounded by a ring of flames, shadows along its edges. Two blade golems flanked a Shadow Reaver, and his skull-like face twisted into a sadistic grin.

“Is that the famed blade?” he continued as they readied their weapons. “It looks so pathetic… and useless, without you to hold it together.”

“I think you will find its edge more than a match for you and your King of Shadows, Reaver!” Zhjaeve challenged.

“My master does not fear a poorly-forged blade,” the Reaver scoffed, “nor a poorly-forged hero.”

“Let me test it out on you, first, and see what he thinks,” Rhaine growled, shifting the Sword of Gith to her off hand and drawing _Touch of Death_ in the other. She hadn’t before trained in using two weapons at once, but she had always found that her bastard sword was astonishingly flexible in its use.

“Keep him at bay while I recite the True Names!” Ammon hissed, backing away as far as he dared.

“I brought some friends of yours with me, Shard-Bearer. You may recognize them. After all, they once lived in West Harbor,” the Reaver taunted, gesturing to the shadows, which bore the pale visages of all the slain villagers she had known since childhood. “Your petty ‘god’ has no power over our Lord – your silly prayers and meaningless rituals have failed to keep your fellows safe… yet _again_.”

Ammon began the recitation, while Rhaine and her companions launched into battle with their new adversaries. Casavir, Elanee, and Sand attempted to take down the blade golems themselves, the rest of the comrades focusing on the shadows. The Doomguide, consumed with a nearly blinding fury, threw caution to the wind as she swung both _Touch of Death_ and the Sword of Gith wildly at the Shadow Reaver – there was no way the thing could possibly avoid both blades at once.

Then, a wave of white energy sprang from Ammon’s body and slammed into the reaver with a staggering force. At that moment, Rhaine plunged both weapons into the Reaver’s heart, and as suddenly as the flames and shadows had appeared, they vanished utterly. The golems, too, collapsed to the ground as useless heaps of metal.

In the quiet aftermath, as the group caught their breath and tended to their wounds, Zhjaeve finally spoke again, “That was not a planned attack. It was desperation. _Know_ that because the blade of Gith has been reformed, the King of Shadows will be forced to move more quickly. We should return to Crossroad Keep as soon as we can; there is no telling what he will do next.”


	16. Reflection

“Knight-Captain?”

“Yes, Kana?”

The Lieutenant looked more than a little irritated. “It’s Sergeant Starling. He’s not acting himself, lately, and the men under his command say he is getting worse by the day. I don’t know what it is that’s eating at him from the inside, but it is costing us morale we can’t afford to lose. Can you talk to him, when you have time? I know you two were childhood acquaintances, so you may be able to help him more than I.”

Rhaine nodded, concern for her friend growing now that her Lieutenant had brought it up to her. “I’ll see what I can do, Kana. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“Of course, Captain.”

The Doomguide immediately made her way out of the keep and into the courtyard. It wasn’t long before she spied Bevil sitting by himself near the church with a mug of mead in hand. Kana was right. He appeared utterly despondent… even more so than he had when they last spoke. He looked up and smiled briefly upon seeing her, but then quickly glanced away as if he did not expect – or did not _want_ \- her to approach.

Regardless, she sat down on the ground beside him. “You’re not looking so good lately, Bevil. What’s wrong?”

“Kana’s been talking to you, hasn’t she?”

“Yes, she has. Why?”

“Figures.”

Rhaine placed her hand on his shoulder. “Bevil, the men are worried about you. _I’m_ worried about you.”

“Hmph,” he shrugged her off, draining his tankard. “Don’t see any reason why you should be. I’m nothing in the grand scheme of things. At the end of the day, I’m just another man with a grey cloak.”

“What is wrong with you?!” Rhaine exclaimed in sheer frustration at his words. “Why are you degrading yourself like this?”

“Because it’s true!” he snapped, jumping to his feet. “Because I _am_ worthless! Because if it wasn’t for me-”

He halted, an expression of pure torture writ on his face, then. Rhaine’s eyes were wide and her mouth was open slightly as she stared up at her old friend, speechless. He looked away from her, as if in pain, and shook his head fiercely, then punched his hand into the wall of the church as he took in shuddering breaths. The priestess was sincerely scared for him; she had never seen him like this before.

“Because if it wasn’t for me, those creatures would never have known you went to Neverwinter,” he said at last, his voice laden with emotion.

Rhaine blinked, confused. “What? What are you talking about?”

He sighed heavily, looking down at his feet because he evidently couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “I was alone on patrol outside the village, not long after you left, and those _things_ attacked me… overwhelmed me. They threatened my life and I told them everything. _Everything_! You, the shard, Neverwinter, _all of it_! I squealed like a little pig, Rhaine! They followed you because _I let them_! So people got attacked, and died, and their homes burnt down, and Ember got destroyed, and you got put on trial, and Lorne-”

“Bevil!”

“-all of this wouldn’t have happened if I had just-”

“ _Bevil_!”

He stopped with his hands still raised in the air. Rhaine abruptly rose and took him fiercely by the shoulders, looking him directly in the eyes – searching them for the old Bevil and praying he was somewhere in there. Unbelievable sadness swam in their depths, such that it made her own eyes hot with tears. “Bevil, listen to me. It _wasn’t. Your. Fault_. Whatever happened out there… you couldn’t have helped it… you were alone…”

“Rhaine, I… I’m sorry,” he whispered, hanging his head in shame. “I’m just so _sorry_ … about all of it.”

At that, she wrapped him up in a tight embrace, and he buried his head in her neck, holding her back. The priestess could feel his tears dampening her collar, his shoulders hitching as she stroked his hair and rocked him from side to side in soothing gestures. She didn’t care who was watching or what they thought of them. He needed the comfort of family, and his life as a soldier had not and would not give him that.

“Bevil, it’s all right,” she whispered. “No matter what happens, you will always be my friend, do you hear me? _Always_. None of this was your fault. None of it.”

They continued to hold each other in silence for a long moment, Bevil’s grip particularly tight. Finally, though, he spoke, voice muffled in her neck.

“I _begged_ Brelaina to send me here, Rhaine. I thought if I came here, to the frontlines, I could make it all up to you, somehow.”

“You don’t have to make up for anything,” Rhaine replied firmly. “Please, stop this. Pull yourself together for the sake of your men. They need you; _I_ need you. You are a good man, Bevil Starling. You always have and always will be.”

He pushed away from her, a mixture of incredulousness and amusement on his face. “How do you do this?”

“Do what?”

He gesticulated wildly at her, the keep, and the courtyard. “ _This_. All of this. You’re a hero, Rhaine… don’t you get it? You’re what everybody else _wants_ to be – what _I_ always wanted to be. How is it that you know exactly what to say and do _all the time_?”

She smiled weakly and shook her head, shrugging. “I don’t, Bevil. I just do what I feel is right, pray, and hope for the best.”

\------------------------------------------------------

“ _Ouch_! That was my foot!”

“Keep quiet, Firehair, or you’ll ruin the surprise!”

“Shut it, Mossbreath!”

“Shhh! There she is!”

Rhaine entered the keep, gaze fixed upon a slip of parchment in her hands. When she finally glanced up, she halted in her tracks as she saw a long banquet table pieced together in the middle of the main room – and no one else around. Her brow furrowed, and she slowly looked about her.

“Kana?”

No answer.

It was eerily quiet, and she placed a hand on her sword hilt.

“Lieutenant Kana?”

Then, suddenly, her companions sprang from their hiding places behind the two side doors of the hall. “ _Surprise_!”

Rhaine jumped backwards in fright. There was a flash of light as Sand dispelled what had been an invisibility enchantment on the banquet table. Atop it had been laid a feast of gigantic proportions, complete with fine silverware and elegant blue linens. Decorative silver candlesticks illuminated the setting every few feet.

“Happy Birthday, Rhaine!” They all shouted in unison.

Heart still pounding from the scare they’d given her, the Doomguide was more than a bit shocked at the sight. With all that had been happening as of late, she had forgotten her own birthday… but her friends had not. All of them were present, even Bishop and Daeghun. She was truly touched by their actions, and she found she couldn’t stop grinning like a fool as she proceeded further into the room, looking upon the display before her in awe.

It was then that Orlen strode up to her, placing a gnarled hand on her shoulder, a sparkle in his eyes. “Well, there you are, Capn’ – the surplus from this year’s harvest, all grown and hunted on your lands and prepared by your people. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Orlen,” Rhaine replied warmly. “But it couldn’t have been done without you.”

“Aww, well, thanks Capn’… but go ahead and have a seat! Official business and all that can wait… this is _your_ evenin’.”

Everyone waited for Rhaine to take her place at the head of the table before seating themselves. Kana sat to her immediate right, and Sir Nevalle took the chair to her left, while the rest of them filled in the remainder of the seats in no particular order. Then they all ate together merrily, partaking of the bountiful harvest and forgetting their troubles for an hour or two, speaking about nothing of any importance. And when they had eaten as much as they could hold, they each pushed back their plates with contented smiles on their faces.

“Time for presents!” Neeshka piped up after a moment, bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Wait, what?” Rhaine was abashed. She couldn’t believe they had brought gifts, too. “But I didn’t- ”

“Nonsense, Knight-Captain!” Khelgar interjected. “We couldn’t let a year go by without givin’ you something in return for all you’ve given us.”

“Khelgar speaks truly,” Casavir added sincerely. “You have not only done much for Neverwinter and the Sword Coast, but also for all of us here, personally. We would be poor friends, indeed, if we did not show our thanks in more than just words.”

With that, Grobnar slid from his chair and headed into the library, returning moments later with a box in his little hands. He walked up to Rhaine and set it in front of her. “Been working on this for you in between sessions with Construct. I certainly hope you find it to your liking, Rhaine.”

He stepped away, and they all watched her with eagerness in their eyes, even Kana. She found herself blushing uncontrollably as she untied the neat bow on the box and hesitantly opened the lid.

She gasped, putting her hands to her mouth upon sighting what was within. There, lying on top of a small bed of black silk, was an elaborate amulet: Kelemvor’s holy symbol, crafted out of ivory and gold, hanging on a delicate chain of silver and strung with duskwood prayer beads. She picked it up gingerly, noticing that the small ivory fingers of the skeletal hand could actually be lifted and dropped again, and the golden scales rocked back and forth on miniature hinges. It gave off a subtle warmth as she touched it, and she wondered if there was indeed an enchantment upon it.

“Bevil told us what happened to your old one,” Neeshka explained at length, “so we thought you could do with another. What’s a priestess without her symbol, after all?”

“Many of us contributed to its creation,” Sand continued proudly. “I gave up the silver for the chain, Elanee and Bishop fetched the duskwood, Neeshka provided the gold, and we all pitched in on coin to ship the ivory from Port Llast.”

Grinning broadly, she put it on, carefully clasping it around her neck and marveling at the beauty of the symbol itself. “I… I can’t thank you enough for this. It means so much to me.”

“That’s not all!” Khelgar added excitedly, rising from his seat and going into the library as well, this time with the smiths Edario and Jacoby alongside him. Together, they wheeled a tall stand covered by a sheet into the room.

Rhaine shook her head in disbelief. “Oh, no… you didn’t…”

“We did,” the smiths replied simultaneously, and removed the sheet with a flourish.

The stand held a full harness of black armor, trimmed in silver. Judging from the cutting figure, it would fit her quite snugly. The plates were all elaborately fluted and ridged, bits of silver chainmail visible at the joints. The visored helmet bore a pair of decorative wings on the sides, and the feathered crest was blue to match her knights’ cloak.

“You’ve had the title of Knight-Captain for a while,” the dwarf remarked at last. “But now you’re going to look the part! Remember all those ingots we found in that evil dragon’s hoard? That’s it… the black is adamantine and the silver is mithral. _Now_ you’ve got a proper suit of armor to match your weapons.”

It was then that Rhaine suddenly became aware of the poor state of her current armor – battered, torn, stained, scratched, and dented beyond belief from her experiences. This gift was not just for looks. It was functional, and she got the idea that her companions were concerned about her physical safety in her old, standard-issue steel. Slowly, she stood and walked up to the adamantine plate, impressed by both its strength and its beauty.

“Why don’t you go try it on?” Nevalle suggested with a grin. “See if it fits?”

Rhaine grinned back and nodded eagerly, the smiths then rolling the stand to her quarters so she could do just that. As she donned it piece by piece, she found that it fit quite comfortably, and she was certain it would serve her well. It was a bit heavier than she was used to, but such was the price of increased protection. Several minutes later, she re-emerged into the main room of the keep, her helm tucked under her arm as she presented herself. “Well, what do you think?”

Their mouths dropped open. Nevalle whistled in the ensuing silence. Even Daeghun’s eyebrows were raised. Smiling sheepishly, she turned around so they could see her from all sides.

Kana was the first to speak.

“I see an undefeatable warrior, Knight-Captain.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine stood on the tallest parapet of Crossroad Keep, watching the sun set over the Sea of Swords. It was a brilliant red, setting the water on fire as it slowly sank into the glittering waves. The breeze brought with it the pungent smell of saltwater, even this far inland. She put her hand to her new amulet, and the symbol pulsed with comforting warmth that did much to ease her spirits.

The Doomguide allowed her thoughts to travel back over the events of the past years. Indeed, it had been two full years since she had left Waterdeep for West Harbor. How things had changed since then. She reflected upon Father Gerard’s cryptic words, and she now understood everything that he had told her then. Rhaine had often wondered if her path had strayed from the High Father’s instructions… if she were truly needed elsewhere. But now it was clear, without a doubt, that this was indeed her destiny, as Father Gerard had said – to stop the King of Shadows, the growing darkness, from consuming the Sword Coast. In facing such an ancient foe, she battled perhaps the most powerful manifestation of her church’s sworn enemies: an incorporeal undead creature that tainted the land itself with its unholy touch, spreading the curse of undeath wherever it went.

It felt good knowing that she was not only helping her people, but also fighting her god’s fight at the same time.

Closing her eyes, she let the wind gently blow her hair back from her face. As she held the yet-warm amulet in her hand, she felt as if she had been temporarily taken away from this world and was floating in a peaceful abyss. It was as if something embraced her protectively, allowing nothing to harm her or interrupt her. And for the first time in a year, she let herself fully relax… completely blanking her mind to all thoughts and worries.

Then, she felt a soft whisper brush her consciousness, so faint that she was unsure she ever heard it at all.

_Draw your sword and speak my name._

Her eyes popped open, and she glanced around, but nothing and no one was there beside her. Rather suddenly, she found herself reminded of her vigil in Waterdeep, and it was then she recognized the presence for what it was. Eyes widening, Rhaine obediently drew _Touch of Death_ , slowly so that it wouldn’t make a noise and alarm the guards nearby. The blade shimmered with the golden light of the sunset as she held it before her.

“ _Kelemvor_.”

No sooner than the name of her god had left her lips, the sword sprang to life, a pale green flame sparked from the jewel in the pommel. It licked harmlessly over her hand and lazily spread down the length of the blade. Her entire body was encased in a similarly-colored glow, and a wave of realization washed over her, her heart pounding and her breath held in awe. She had at last been granted the fabled _Bond of_ _Fatal Touch_ – the supernatural link with Kelemvor’s own sword that every Doomguide longed to possess.

It was, without a doubt, the greatest gift of all.


	17. The Stand

“Captain! _Captain_!”

The young scout was gasping for breath and stumbling as he scrambled to get to the keep as quickly as possible. He had to deliver the message – only _then_ could he die from exhaustion…

“Captain! Ca- _oomph_!”

He ran right into the Knight-Captain herself, nearly toppling her over.

“Easy, soldier!” she exclaimed, taking him by the shoulders. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“It’s… it’s High… Highcliff,” he panted, barely comprehensible. “Commander Callum… pinned down by a Shadow Reaver…”

Sir Nevalle, who had been following close behind Rhaine, grabbed her by the arm, his eyes wide in fear for his fellow Nine. “Callum is cornered by a Reaver? We’ve got to hurry and get to him!” He turned and began running towards his tower. “I’ll arm myself and come with a handful men as soon as I am able… go quickly, before it’s too late!”

“Zhjaeve! Ammon! Casavir!” the Doomguide called to the companions nearest her. “Take fresh horses and follow me! Highcliff is under siege by a Reaver!”

Within minutes, the foursome was galloping from the keep and down the steep road towards Highcliff, the wind whipping their capes behind them like banners. As they neared the town, they could see thick, black smoke billowing in the distance, an oppressive haze covering the area like a suffocating blanket.

“The town has already fallen!” Casavir shouted over the horses’ thundering hooves, casting Rhaine a grim look.

Rhaine spurred Angel faster, the white mare snorting with every lengthening stride. Highcliff came into view ahead of them, the houses burning and in ruin. There, Callum stood with only a handful of Greycloaks at his side, fending off four blade golems and a Shadow Reaver in an attempt to block its progress up the road. The Reaver just stood there, watching the spectacle with his arms crossed, as if in amusement, while the golems ripped the men to shreds; at last the golems fell to the dwarf’s mighty axe, but at the cost of the remaining Greycloaks.

“Now that things are even,” Callum taunted, although there was a hint of weariness in his voice. “Why don’t you face me?”

“ _No_ , Callum!” Rhaine called in warning. “Don’t! You can’t-”

The Shadow Reaver laughed wickedly, scarlet power washing from his body and into the golems, suddenly bringing them back to life and repairing them, as if nothing had ever happened.

“What foul magic is this?” Callum cried in horror, beginning to back away.

“ _Charge_!” Rhaine yelled, kicking Angel’s flanks and rushing forth with her blade drawn.

But it was too late. Callum could not dodge the mighty blades of all the golems, and he took a hideous blow first to his chest, then to his back as his stocky form was spun around with the force of the initial strike.

“Captain… tell Nasher… I failed…” he coughed before collapsing, blood pooling quickly beneath his torn body.

Their horses slammed into the blade golems, knocking the constructs prone with the force, but the animals whinnied in pain as their hides suffered lacerations from the golems’ spiked limbs. Rhaine and Casavir leapt from the backs of their fleeing steeds while Ammon and Zhjaeve hung back, the former reciting the True Names and the latter raining magic upon their foes. The constructs quickly fell once again to the holy warriors’ weapons, but the Shadow Reaver was another matter, seemingly able to block every spell the githzerai cast. Casavir was the one closest to it, and he engaged in a fierce melee, though the sheer strength of the reaver’s blows forced the paladin to fall back step by step.

The Knight-Captain drew the Sword of Gith in her offhand, calling down the _Bond of_ _Fatal Touch_ with the other. Her entire body felt electrified as the powerful divine magic surged through her limbs and into _Touch of Death_. The power continued to build with exhilarating energy as she charged towards the Shadow Reaver, nearly blinding her with its pale green light. The instant she reached him, the white burst of magic from Ammon’s recitation hit the reaver, stripping him of his resistances, and she thrust both blades into the foul creature with all of her weight behind them.

The magic from the Bond discharged, tearing the Shadow Reaver asunder with purifying green flame as the Sword of Gith sliced through its form like a hot knife through butter. He was dead, finally… but at a heavy cost.

In the aftermath of the battle, Rhaine simply stood there for a moment, both swords pointed downwards toward the earth, catching her breath. It was then that Casavir approached her, laying a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

She met his crystal blue eyes and nodded. “I am… fine. You?”

“None the worse for wear.”

At that moment, Sir Nevalle and his men came galloping down the road towards Highcliff, but he halted them abruptly with a raised hand when he glimpsed Callum’s bloodied body on the ground. He lifted his visor and walked his horse towards them slowly, an expression of complete dejection on his face as he neared and beheld the dwarf’s mangled corpse in full. Rhaine saw his throat bob once over the collar of his gambeson as he swallowed heavily.

“I have come too late for Callum, it seems,” he said at length, voice quiet. “And for Highcliff as well.” After a few long moments of silence, he shook his head slowly and continued, addressing the Doomguide directly.

“I must bear this news to Lord Nasher at once. Give him burial, Captain, and take your men back to the keep.”

And with that, the young knight rode away, turning northwards towards Neverwinter. Rhaine got the feeling that Nevalle wished to be alone with his thoughts, and thus she said nothing in return. Kneeling, she said a few prayers for Callum while Ammon approached. The warlock sifted through the ashen remains of the Shadow Reaver and rose at last with a strange book in his hands. A smile of satisfaction spread across his countenance when he flipped through the pages, and he met Rhaine’s eyes with a hint of triumph in his wild gaze.

“ _This_ ,” he began with a toothy grin, shaking the book at her. “This is the Tome of Iltkazar. This is how Garius has been controlling these golems… and likely how he’s been teleporting them around the Mere with impunity. We should bring this back first to Grobnar, then to Aldanon, and see if we can’t make use of one of our enemy’s tools.”

“I agree,” Zhjaeve remarked nearby. “ _Know_ that despite our significant loss here, this discovery could help our cause greatly.”

At last, Rhaine turned to the Greycloaks. “Men! Wrap the bodies of Callum and his soldiers and take them back to the Church of Tyr. Return to the keep and to your duties… there is nothing more left for us here.”

\------------------------------------------------------

A few days later, Nevalle rode back to Crossroad Keep, hard determination upon his countenance, and he was still fully armored as he rode up to the castle gates. Kana and Rhaine watched on the battlements as he approached, both of them eager to hear what Lord Nasher wanted them to do now. Aldanon had yet to find a way for them to get into the heart of the Mere safely, and this made them unable to do anything but bide their time.

“Captain!” He saluted her briskly, halting his horse before the gatehouse and calling upwards. “Lord Nasher is marching five hundred men to Highcliff in an attempt to push the King of Shadows back.”

Rhaine exchanged concerned looks with her Lieutenant. “Do you think it is possible, Sir Nevalle?”

“I won’t lie to you – Lord Nasher does not expect to win this battle. We can only hope to buy you and Aldanon a little time… Crossroad Keep is, without a doubt, their next target. Prepare your men for what is to come, Knight-Captain, and pray to the gods for their favor.” He paused, looking away for a moment before returning his gaze to her. “Farewell, Rhaine. We may not meet again.”

The Doomguide could only watch, then, as Sir Nevalle suddenly spun his horse around with a cry and galloped back the way he had come, armor glinting in the sunlight as he became less and less distinct, following the road down the hillside.

“Captain.” Kana turned to her at length, concern in her black-eyed gaze. “What are your orders?”

Rhaine’s face was grim. “Call everyone together. _Everyone_. Get them into the courtyard, on the battlements, on the rooftops, I don’t care… but get them out here, now.”

Kana immediately began barking orders to the sergeants to muster the men. Slowly but surely, everyone appeared, filling first the courtyard, then the balconies, parapets, and turrets. Some of the night watch had, quite literally, been dragged out of bed, judging from their groggy looks. Rhaine’s companions gathered together near the armory, and behind them assembled the keep staff. It appeared Grobnar had indeed been able to make use of the Tome of Iltkazar, as his beloved Construct was now lumbering at his side – he grinned up at it with an almost fatherly expression upon his round features. Her soldiers lined the walls three men deep, all with curious miens.

For a moment, she simply allowed her gaze to rest upon them all. They fell silent as they saw she was waiting, evidently eager to hear what she had to say. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then began her impromptu speech, her voice ringing against the stones of the castle.

“Soldiers of Neverwinter! Men and women of Crossroad Keep! Hear me now! Lord Nasher Alagondar marches with five hundred men in an attempt to push back the forces of the King of Shadows at Highcliff. We are the only ones who remain steadfast – the only ones who stand between the shadow army and Neverwinter! If Lord Nasher fails, it falls to us alone to hold back the King of Shadows… us alone to ensure that this evil spreads no further!

“ _This_ is the moment you have been training for – have shed tears, sweat, and blood for. The test of our strength, our will, is upon us now! The coming days will be the hardest we have ever lived. But we must stand together, united in mind and body, to protect our families and everything we hold dear. For if we fall, the Sword Coast falls with us.”

She jumped upon a crenellation, drawing _Touch of Death_. “But we shall _not_ fall! Because _we_ are the best soldiers that Neverwinter has to offer! Because we _can_ defeat the King of Shadows! The spirits of our loved ones are with us… the gods themselves stand alongside us! And together, we will send the army of the King of Shadows screaming back to their graves! For Neverwinter! For Lord Nasher! For Kelemvor, Lathander, and Tyr!”

Crossroad Keep erupted in a deafening roar of cheers and applause as green fire burst from _Touch of Death_. Rhaine held the flaming blade aloft, and the soldiers began a resounding chant.

“ _Captain! Captain! Captain!_ ”

The roar of their voices carried on the wind, echoing around the mountainside and down to the valley near Highcliff.

Hopefully, they would grant strength to Lord Nasher’s army.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Knight-Captain! Nevalle and Nasher have returned! They’re wounded… badly!” The scout on the battlements pointed to the road.

Rhaine scrambled up the steps to see for herself. Indeed, the knight of Neverwinter was slumped forward on his horse, Lord Nasher draped across the saddle behind him. The stallion’s copper hide was lathered with sweat, and both men’s armor was spattered with blood.

“Katriona! Kana! Make the guest rooms ready!” Rhaine shouted. “Zhjaeve, Casavir, to me!”

As the horse wearily plodded up to the gates, one of her soldiers took the reins while the threesome helped Nevalle and Nasher down from the fatigued mount’s back. The Lord of Neverwinter was unconscious, the knight barely so. Casavir took Nasher by himself, scooping him up under the shoulders and knees while the Doomguide and the githzerai supported Nevalle.

“Captain… the battle…” Nevalle whispered as they moved him, “was a failure…”

“Hush now,” Rhaine said firmly. “You can talk after we’ve healed you.”

“Nasher… is he…?”

“Unconscious, but alive,” the paladin supplied.

They moved awkwardly into the keep. Casavir laid Nasher down on the bed in one room, and Rhaine and Zhjaeve likewise placed Nevalle next door. The Doomguide ordered the githzerai to get Lord Nasher out of his armor while she did the same for the knight.

“Neeshka!” Rhaine yelled.

A few seconds later, the tiefling’s head popped in the doorway. “I’m all horns.”

“Fetch me some spare bandages from the storeroom and deliver some next door for Zhjaeve, as well.”

“You got it.”

The tiefling was, by far, the fastest on her feet, and so Rhaine relied on her to do the running and fetching while she and the githzerai tended to the warriors’ wounds. Her other companions occasionally poked their heads in as well to offer their aid – Khelgar took the Neverwintans’ battered armor to the smiths for repair, Elanee brought some numbing herbs to help with the pain, and Sand provided the apparati to mix salves and poultices.

Both Nasher and Nevalle had suffered grievous wounds, but the latter had taken more blows, presumably because he had gotten between his liege and whatever danger had presented itself. Zhjaeve and Rhaine had to carefully clean their wounds and disinfect them before they could heal them with magic. Both sent Neeshka out frequently with bundles of crimson rags.

After about an hour, Zhjaeve dropped by, opening the door quietly behind Rhaine. “I have tended to Lord Nasher. _Know_ that he is healed, and is resting. Would you like assistance?”

The Doomguide shook her head. “No, thank you, Zhjaeve. If you can, just stay with Nasher until he wakes.”

“It shall be done, _Kalach-cha_ ,” the githzerai replied, inclining her head respectfully and closing the door behind her.

Rhaine herself was far from finished. Nevalle had suffered at least a dozen wounds, mostly on his torso… all of them moderate to serious. None of them were clean slices – they had torn his flesh wickedly, and making sure that each injury was properly cleaned was slow and tedious work. His chiseled and stoic visage was contorted in an expression of agony, and she was surprised he had not yet passed out from the pain. He was an incredibly strong man.

“For a while, there…” he grunted, every word difficult to get out, “I thought… I would end up… like Callum…”

“Had you come to me any later, you would have,” she replied grimly as she examined and disinfected a particularly nasty gash on his side. The bleeding had finally ceased a while ago, so her job was getting a little easier.

“The army…” he hissed. “Their leader… is Black Garius…”

Rhaine paused mid-movement. “I had heard from Sydney Natale that the Shadow Reavers were the Arcane Brotherhood.”

“Yes… he intends on retaking Crossroad Keep… as a fortress for the King of Shadows…”

“He will fail. Raise up again, if you can,” she said, quickly passing yet another roll of bandages several times under his lower back as she bound the wounds on his abdomen. He grunted again as he let himself back down and she tightened the gauze.

Then, Nevalle suddenly caught her by the arm, his grip surprisingly firm, and she glanced up to meet his soft brown eyes, glazed with pain. His breath was shallow as he spoke.

“You… you’re an angel… you know that? A… a sweet… Angel of Death…”

She covered his hand with her own and smiled wryly. “Nonsense, Nevalle. Relax.” As she gently squeezed his fingers, she closed her eyes and began reciting one of her strongest healing spells, allowing her mind to visualize his wounds. She saw them – the torn muscles, the fractured bone, and the severed nerves – and began slowly knitting them back together with her power, one by one.

When the Doomguide finally finished, she was drained; the effort to fully heal Nevalle had completely exhausted her. The knight himself was fast asleep, breathing deeply now. Rhaine attempted to get up from his bedside at last, but an unexpected blackness swam before her eyes, and she unwillingly succumbed to slumber herself on the spot.

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine felt her head slowly rising and falling, resting on something warm. It took all her will to drag herself out of sleep, opening her eyelids. Her vision was blurred as she tried to make out where she was…

She jerked up, realizing she had fallen asleep across Nevalle, her head on his chest. He looked at her and grinned cheekily, his hands behind his head. “Morning, Knight-Captain.”

“It’s… morning? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“How could I?” He replied. “You saved my life. The least I could do in return was let you use me as a human pillow for a few hours.”

“You _rogue_.” She glared at him and rose abruptly, quickly moving to the dresser, where she had set several potions she had whipped up the night before. She took one that was small and white and thrust it at him, popping the cork off the top. “Here… since you’re feeling so spry this morning, you can take a holy water infusion. I want to make sure that undead taint is completely gone.”

“Of course, milady. Right away, milady,” he said with a wink, taking the bottle and downing it in one gulp.

“Well, now,” Rhaine finally opened the room door, “There are more potions here if you still have pains or feel sick. And Neeshka went and fetched your clothes from the tower… you can dress yourself. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a keep to run.”

He was still grinning like a devil when she shut the door behind her. Shaking her head, she then made her way back into the main room of the keep. Looking around, she saw no one but the door guards and Sergeant Katriona.

“Where’s Kana?”

“Scouts called her out,” Katriona answered. “I think trouble’s brewing.”

Then, suddenly, the Lieutenant herself rushed into the keep looking quite disheveled – unusual for the typically flawless warrior – and carrying a slip of parchment in her hands. “Captain! The scouts are reporting that Garius’s forces are on the move. They’re aiming to take control of the two bridges that span the forks of the river below this mountain. If they manage to do so, nothing will hinder their passage to Crossroad Keep.”

Rhaine’s eyes narrowed. So Garius did not plan on giving them time to breathe. Wonderful.

“Call everyone to the War Room.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Nasher and Nevalle both joined the sergeants, Lieutenant Kana, Rhaine, and her companions in the War Room, seating themselves at the large circular table there. Lord Nasher looked positively exhausted, dark circles under his eyes.

“My lord,” Rhaine began. “Are you sure you are all right? Are you up to moving about today?”

He nodded. “I cannot show weakness to our troops, or the King of Shadows will gain yet another edge. He marches to Crossroad Keep and will be at our gates soon.”

“The Lord’s Alliance and Waterdeep have reinforcements on the way,” Nevalle added. “But I am not certain they will get here in time.”

“We cannot depend on them,” Rhaine replied with a shake of her head.

“Agreed,” Nevalle answered. “We must defend this keep as if we stand alone.”

Nasher then looked to her. “You must hold this fortress against the King of Shadows. You have raised it with your own hands – now you must keep it together and lead your men in battle.”

“Then let us start our plan,” Kana said. “There is much to cover.” Sighing, the Lieutenant then laid her reports before her. “The scouts have returned with more intelligence… Garius already holds both bridges.”

“Well,” Bishop scoffed with a smirk. “Isn’t that grand news? We all know that whoever holds those bridges holds the keep – or at least the way into it. If they try to march up the mountain, we can make it hard on them… but the loss of those bridges means they have the upper hand already. We need to fix that now, before they advance again.”

“Bishop is correct,” Casavir agreed.

“We also need time to set up blockades in the courtyard and ready the walls,” Ammon interjected. “We cannot allow the enemy to cross that river, or we will have no time at all.”

“If we act quickly,” Kana suggested, “we can recapture the bridges and destroy them, making it difficult, if not impossible for the army to cross. Slower and weaker creatures, like skeletons and ghouls, would be swept away by the currents, and vampires cannot cross at all without aid. Granted, it will only buy us a little time, but with our allies on the way, even a day could mean much.”

“Even now, the land is our ally,” Elanee commented.

“All right,” Rhaine said with a short nod. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

“I already sent a small contingent to the river ahead of you,” Kana replied. “That being said, I recommend taking only one other unit with you.”

Khelgar’s mouth dropped open. “Just a _single_ unit? How will that help us? I can’t punch a bridge to pieces!”

Rhaine looked sideways at Grobnar. “Perhaps one of your inventions will work?”

Excitement abruptly overtook the gnome’s features. “Blast globes! Those will work! I can make some right now if you want.”

“How long will it take?”

“Well, it shouldn’t be longer than an hour.”

The Doomguide took a deep breath. “An hour, then. Very well, let’s do it.”

“We will set out in an hour’s time, then,” Kana stated. “But there is still the matter of your men. You must decide who you wish to command which soldiers. Archers and swordsmen will both be at your disposal. Who do you wish control of, Captain?”

“Swordsmen.”

“And who would you like to bring with you from your companions?”

“Casavir.”

The paladin rose and bowed. “I will defend you and this keep with my life.”

“And one other?”

“Neeshka.”

“Wh-what?” The tiefling looked utterly flabbergasted. “You’re asking _me_ to lead troops?”

Rhaine grinned. “Your eyes are sharp, friend. You’ll be well suited to commanding the archers.”

“Well!” Neeshka smiled broadly, her pointy teeth glittering in the candlelight. “Thank you!”

“So it shall be,” Kana said finally, standing herself. “In an hour, we head out. Everyone arm yourselves and be ready.”

The Knight-Captain wasted no time. She immediately headed to her quarters where she donned her new adamantine armor, quickly twisting her long scarlet mane into a bun and strapping on her helmet. She was pleased that the eye slits of the visor were a little larger than those of Sir Grayson’s helm, although she still did not like the restriction. She then re-belted _Touch of Death_ to her left hip, the Sword of Gith opposite. Into her boots she tucked four additional knives, and to her belt she added several small vials of holy water – blessed herself – as well as a few flasks of potent acid and alchemical fire. Her knights’ cloak topped off the outfit before she swept down the stairs and into the storerooms to check on Grobnar and the blast globes.

Satisfied the gnome was making good time, she went to the stables and tacked Angel, where she found Casavir and Neeshka doing the same with two more horses. All the while, Kana and Bevil assembled and reviewed the troops in the courtyard. The hour passed more quickly than she had expected, and soon Grobnar handed the crates of fresh blast globes off to the troops before they all marched from the gates together, ready to face Garius’s legions.

\------------------------------------------------------

As the group traversed the winding switchback down the mountain, Rhaine was eventually greeted by Daeghun. The elven ranger had crouched upon a rocky outcropping overlooking the road to the bridges, armored in shining scale-mail and armed with a composite longbow. He rose and jogged towards Rhaine upon seeing her approach.

“It is good that you are here. The situation is worsening by the minute.”

“What’s it like down there?” she inquired, raising her visor.

“The bridges are both held by Shadow Priests and undead of varying types… but mostly skeletons. The first bridge – the one farthest from us – is strongly defended and will be the hardest to take back. The second bridge, just beyond that bend there, is less fortified, but still dangerous. The men Kana sent before you have had no success in pushing the raiders back… they have had to stand their ground in hopes of keeping the enemy from advancing further. You must see to them at once.”

“I will,” she replied simply, snapping her visor closed. She was about to kick Angel into a canter when Daeghun firmly took hold of her ankle and squeezed, looking up at her. “Be careful, Rhaine.”

Surprised at this sudden gesture, she met his eyes and nodded before waving to her men. “Advance!”

They continued down the road to see a contingent of about a dozen Greycloaks embroiled in battle with four Shadow Priests and their half-dozen skeleton bodyguards, along with a handful of ghouls. Rhaine held up a hand to halt them, barking, “Swordsmen! Follow the orders of Casavir! Archers! Keep to the rear and listen for Neeshka’s commands!”

She then looked sideways to the paladin. “Hold them back as long as possible. I want to get as many spells in as I can before they reach us.”

Casavir nodded grimly. “Understood.”

She then edged Angel forward, ahead of the others, and began silent casting. Her first spell was a _Blade Barrier_ – ten giant twirling swords manifesting behind the Shadow Priests – giving them no opportunity to retreat unless they wanted to be sliced to ribbons. The soldiers noticed the spell, and turning around to see the source, began running towards her, just as she thought they would, leading the Shadow Priests behind them.

“Hold your ground!” Casavir’s voice sounded.

“Archers ready!” Neeshka yelled.

She cast another invocation, this time a _Flame Strike_ raining down from the heavens and incinerating the skeletons. As Kana’s detachment came ever nearer, Rhaine drew _Touch of Death_ and the Sword of Gith in her hands. She then cast one final spell, _Hammer of the Gods_ , which came spiraling down from the sky in a burst of divine light, temporarily blinding the priests in pursuit.

The Doomguide kicked Angel’s flanks, the white mare rearing with a cry as the contingent ran for safety behind the ranks of the fresh soldiers.

“Charge!”

“Fire at will!”

Arrows whizzed past her head as she leaned over Angel’s neck, blade poised. She could hear the hoofbeats of Casavir’s horse not far behind her, and her fresh swordsmen dashed forward with shouts to Tempus and Lathander for aid. In seconds, they collided with the priests and ghouls, the latter of which with arrows embedded into their disease-ridden hides. A flash of white energy slammed into the undead as Casavir _Turned_ them, rendering them immobile. Whilst the soldiers made quick work of the priests, Rhaine and the paladin dispatched the ghouls, and their first fight was over.

Rhaine’s _Blade Barrier_ dissipated, and the other troops caught up with her, both the archers and Kana’s original detachment. The priestess and paladin made sure that the soldiers were well healed before continuing on to the first bridge proper. It was easy enough to recapture using the same tactics as before, and it was not long before its shadow defenders were wiped out.

After they had rested a moment, Casavir suddenly pointed to a side path. “Look there. Coffins.”

They approached carefully. In a small recess carved into the hillside, the shadow army had placed at least two dozen wooden coffins – with no defenders to guard them. Rhaine raised her visor and exchanged looks with the paladin. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Vampires.”

The Doomguide turned to her men. “Soldiers! Get those caskets open!”

“Yes, Captain!”

It took a good bit of prying, pulling, and grunting, but the men finally got one of the coffins open…

… and they all howled with laughter as the vampire within was scorched by the afternoon sun. It jumped out with a screech and ran around the alcove like a headless chicken as fire consumed its body like tinder. The process was repeated for all two dozen caskets, resulting in both a huge loss for the King of Shadows and more than a bit of good fun for the men. Rhaine mentally thanked Lathander for a clear, sunny day as they then turned to continue along the road and retake the far bridge.

The second battle was not nearly as easy as the first – Rhaine lost two swordsmen and three archers to the King of Shadows’s forces. At last, however, they successfully reclaimed the bridge, and they were about to turn around and head back to the keep when a familiar voice rang across the land.

“Ah, the Knight-Captain of Crossroad Keep. It has been a while, has it not?”

Rhaine growled, gripping her weapons. “Far too soon for my liking, Garius. Enjoying being a tool of your master, are we?”

With a sudden _bang_ , the Shadow Reaver Black Garius manifested before her, along with twenty skeleton warriors and another Shadow Priest. “A tool, yes… but my master has granted more power than almost anyone in Faerûn. Let me show you.”

Suddenly, the skeletons around him doubled in size, and another dozen ghouls emerged from the very land itself, their twisted forms making sickening noises as they pulled themselves out of the ground. Angel half-reared in fright, and Rhaine struggled to keep her still.

“You may stand atop the battlements, now,” Garius hissed angrily, “but know that I have come to reclaim my former home!”

“And you’ll be humiliated once again!” the Doomguide retorted.

“Oh, I don’t think so, _Captain_ ,” Garius hissed. “The King of Shadows is close to tearing through the walls of his prison, and then… well, we’ll get to that soon enough.” He vanished, then, but his voice lingered eerily, “Enjoy yourselves while you can. I’ll look forward to our next meeting, should you survive.”

The Shadow Priest stepped forward. “And now, Captain, you will d-”

Out of nowhere came an explosion, reducing the priest to ash mid-sentence. Rhaine glanced up in surprise and there, on the far hillside, stood Daeghun, flanked by scouts from Crossroad Keep, blast globes in their hands.

“Now is not the time for questions, child! Defend yourself!”

They launched into battle, the leaders sliding from their saddles and smacking their horses’ rumps to make them flee the area. Arrows flew everywhere from all angles - from Daeghun and his scouts, from Rhaine’s archers, and from skeletons perched on the surrounding hillsides. The skeletal warriors near the Doomguide attempted to surround her, but Casavir forced his way to her side, and Neeshka leapt to her defense. The threesome was a whirlwind of hammer and blades, attempting to fend off the undead despite their overwhelming numbers. Rhaine’s soldiers focused on the skeletal archers, while Daeghun and the scouts picked off the ghouls one by one.

Finally, however, it was over. The three friends stood amidst a circle of bones and rotting flesh, what soldiers remained catching their breath on the hill by Daeghun. They had all been injured. Rhaine had received a painful stab wound to her side, where one of the skeleton’s blades had managed to thrust between her plates and through the thick leather underneath. Neeshka’s arms were lacerated. Casavir’s left pauldron had been torn off, and there was blood slowly trickling from under his right cuisse. Five more of her troops had been slain, and so had one of Daeghun’s scouts. They spent a few moments healing each other’s wounds, Rhaine performing her duties as a Doomguide as well, before looking around and preparing to leave.

The elven ranger glanced down at Rhaine, a faint smile on his face. “Well done, my daughter.”

She raised her visor and grinned up at him. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His gaze was kind. “A father’s instinct does have its uses, or so it seems. But come, our job is not yet finished. We’ve got bridges to bring down.”

“You heard Daeghun,” Rhaine barked. “Pull back! Let’s remove our dead and set up those explosives.”

It took them the next hour to send the soldiers’ bodies back to the keep and get the blast globe crates in place. Once they did, they retreated up the mountain, where they could see both bridges from a rocky outcropping. Daeghun drew back his bow and, with two clean shots, detonated the explosives from afar. With that, the bridges fell to pieces… making it nearly impossible for their foes to cross the river.

“It is done,” the elf said simply.

Rhaine nodded. “All right everyone. Let’s get back to Lord Nasher to report our success.”

\------------------------------------------------------

They returned as twilight settled on the castle. Kana, Nevalle, and Lord Nasher all were standing in front of the keep doors, waiting for the news. They clapped and cheered when they saw Rhaine and her companions approaching.

“Is it done, then?” Nasher inquired. “Are the bridges down?”

“They are down, milord,” Rhaine affirmed, inclining her head.

Lieutenant Kana beamed. “Congratulations, Captain. Did you learn anything while you were out there?”

The Doomguide nodded. “Garius has found a way to empower the undead. He can make them larger and stronger.”

“Large they may be,” Kana remarked dryly, “but skeleton bones will still break… just as rotting flesh may still be pierced. But this talk can wait until later. Come, you must all be hungry.”

They turned to go inside, but Rhaine felt a light hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Casavir looking at her oddly. “Rhaine, might I speak with you a moment? In private?”

She unbuckled her helm and shook her scarlet hair free… and for a moment, she thought she saw him swallow hard. “Certainly. Where would you like for us to go?”

His brow furrowed. “The battlements, perhaps? It is quiet up there, and we could observe the troops without being disturbed.”

She nodded her assent. “Very well. Let’s go.”

Rhaine led him up the wall stairs to one of her favorite spots on the battlements, between the two southern towers. The moon was already rising in the sky, the stars beginning to peek through the purple veil of night. The priestess lashed her helm to her belt and leaned against the crenellations, looking out over the pasture land that surrounded the keep. Casavir leaned his back and elbows on the wall beside her, staring up at the twinkling stars.

“There is death in the air tonight,” he said quietly, closing his crystalline blue eyes momentarily.

Rhaine looked askance at him. “You sound rather calm, despite that.”

He laughed lightly, meeting her gaze. “I am here with you… there is little that could touch me.”

Her eyes widened, and she found herself blushing. “Well, I-”

“There is something I must tell you before this battle is begun in earnest,” he continued, looking away briefly. “I wish to thank you for all you have done for me. You have restored my faith, and my strength, by showing me that there is indeed good in feeling something for another.

“Though it may be dark, you shine like the stars above, to me. You are my guiding light, Rhaine, and there is nothing that can stand against us when we are together – in this life, or the next.”

Her mouth dropped open slightly, her mind racing as she struggled to keep up with his words and their meaning, and he once again met her eyes, his own sparkling with a fire she’d not noticed before.

“I will follow you, Rhaine, no matter what happens. Wherever you go, I shall go also. My sword, and my heart, are yours.”

She clamped her hand over her mouth, and he simply smiled gently in return. Slowly, she backed up and into the tower behind her, leaning against it before her knees gave out. But her sudden weakness wasn’t because she loved him… it was because she _didn’t_.

And now she had to tell him, somehow.

His look became one of concern, and he pushed off from the wall, “Are you all right, Rhaine? I didn’t say anything-”

“No, no, no!” She shook her hands and her head fiercely. “No… it’s just. Casavir…”

How on Toril did she say this?

She approached him slowly and placed a gloved hand on his cheek, even as her fingers trembled. “You are a dear friend, Casavir, and you mean so much to me. You are such a good man, and you honor me, but… I don’t love you in… in that way. I’m sorry.”

He did not move from her, or push her hand away, but his eyes did flick downwards momentarily, their fire extinguished somewhat. The paladin’s sky-blue gaze returned to hers after a second, however, and he offered her another small smile. “It does not matter. I feel for you, and the feeling runs pure. For me, it is enough to fight for. And that, I think, is also enough to meet what comes.”

She could feel tears in her eyes, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to hide them, embracing him fiercely; she felt so sorry for him – sorry for breaking his heart like that, even if her words were truth. Casavir hugged her back, though, and they held each other for several long moments before letting go of each other. Finally, the paladin pulled away, turning to head back down the wall stairs alone.

“Casavir!”

He looked back up at her. “Yes?”

She paused a breath. “Good night.”

He inclined his head politely. “And to you, Knight-Captain.”

Hearing her full title coming from his lips stung a bit, and she winced – he was back to rigid formality.

For some odd reason, it sickened her a little.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Knight-Captain! Wake up! It’s Garius’s army! They’re _here_!”

Rhaine woke up to one of her Greycloaks hammering the door to her private quarters. She had just finished patching her armor a few hours earlier and had fallen asleep with the adamantine suit still on. She scrambled out of bed and opened the door, her vision blurred.

“They’re here? This soon? But… it can’t be past midnight!”

He nodded emphatically. “They’re assembling in the fields… siege towers are being raised as we speak! Kana asked me to fetch you – she’s got everyone in the War Room.”

“I’ll go immediately,” she replied, grabbing her weapons belts off of her dresser and belting them on as she walked. She entered the War Room to see all of her companions, Nevalle, Nasher, and Kana gathered together.

“Captain!” Kana saluted. “We’ve got a problem. Somehow, Garius managed to get his army across the river faster than we expected. He’s moving quickly, so I assume he anticipates this to be a swift victory.”

“If he’s got siege towers,” Ammon added seriously, “he’s planning on storming the walls to overwhelm us. We cannot allow that to happen – if we do, it _will_ be a swift victory.”

“We need to get extra men out to the walls and destroy those towers as they come,” Kana continued. “I recommend two units, both under the command of two of your companions.”

“Agreed,” Rhaine nodded, buckling on her helm. “Let’s get our allies in on this. I want one unit of Ironfist warriors under the command of Khelgar. I want another unit of Lizardfolk under Elanee.”

The dwarf grinned widely, pounding his fists together. “Let’s crack some skulls, shall we?”

For once, the druidess grinned back at him.

“What’s the best way to disable the towers?” the Doomguide asked, adjusting her chin strap.

“Fire is your best bet. You won’t be able to knock them down, but you should be able to collapse the entrances,” Kana replied.

“That’s all I need to know.” Rhaine snapped her visor closed. “Let’s head out!”

Elanee and Khelgar followed close on Rhaine’s heels while Kana and the sergeants mustered the Ironfist and Lizardfolk warriors. They made their way quickly up to the first set of walls, and the Doomguide’s stomach churned. A black shroud hung over the fields, blanketing an army of red-eyed wraiths, shadows, vampires, ghouls, zombies, and giant skeletons. They carried weapons and torches lit with blue flame, and these blue fires danced into the distance as far as the eye could see… like a million azure stars in a sea of blackness.

Just as the men assembled on the walls, she spied movement; five siege towers, each taller than the highest turrets of the keep, began advancing towards them. She could see the ramps on their fronts that served as doors while the machine was moving… these would lower and deposit the undead troops directly on the walls…

“There! Those are our targets, men! Destroy those ramps at all costs!” She yelled, drawing her swords.

All of a sudden, she heard a swooping sound, and on the inner set of walls behind her the Greycloaks launched flaming boulders from small mounted catapults. These rocks sailed through the air like meteors, some missing their targets, but some hitting dead on. The Ironfists yelled a battle cry as the first tower came ever closer, slowly lowering its ramp for the attack.

The dwarves rushed the tower, pushing and shoving the undead invaders back into the siege machine and tossing blast globes into it. Elanee cast a _Flame Strike_ , and the first tower suddenly rocked back precariously, its ramp instantly destroyed. The vampires within hissed at her and attempted to leap the gap between the engine and the crenellations, but flaming arrows from the inner walls stopped them.

No sooner than the soldiers had toppled the first tower, they heard a crash as the second ramp hit the walls and wraiths began pouring out. The Lizardmen rushed to meet them with acid-coated spears. Rhaine used a _Flame Strike_ of her own to destroy the ramp, but not before at least two dozen empowered skeletons charged onto the battlements alongside their incorporeal fellows. She followed up with a _Turning_ invocation, hoping to paralyze or downright destroy some of them. Some of the giant skeletons succumbed completely to the divine power, and a few wraiths were immobilized, but they were forced to engage in melee with them. They had not yet finished dispatching the invaders when a third ramp crashed onto the walls, releasing vampires and ghouls.

Even with their progress, the enemies were coming too fast. Several of the Lizardfolk and Ironfists had already fallen to the wraiths. Rhaine whirled and quickly cast a _Blade Barrier_ across the battlements, attempting to prevent the third wave from reaching them. She then unleashed another _Flame Strike_ on the third ramp, sealing the entrance – but the damage was already done.

“I need reinforcements up here!” she yelled.

“Reinforcements!” Elanee shouted in echo.

More Lizardfolk and Ironfist warriors joined them on the ramparts, attacking the vampires and ghouls from behind. The Doomguide _Turned_ again, this time destroying the ghouls outright – just as a fourth ramp lowered upon the walls. A flaming rock from the catapults slammed into the tower, tearing the ramp clean off of its hinges, and a volley of fire arrows knocked the invading zombies from the walls.

Elanee had been pinned down by a vampiress, and Rhaine called down a _Bond of_ _Fatal Touch_ , leaping to her rescue. She plunged the green-glowing _Touch of Death_ through its body, following up with a sideways slash with the Sword of Gith, removing its head from its shoulders in one easy swipe.

“Thanks,” Elanee panted. The druidess’s hazel eyes abruptly grew wide, however, and she thrust her own flaming spear right beside Rhaine’s head.

The Doomguide whirled to see another vampire with Elanee’s fiery weapon sticking through its mouth and protruding from the back of its skull. As the wood elf rose to push the dying vampire off of her spear, the bloodsucker was then decapitated by Khelgar’s mighty axe, leaving the fanged head dangling loosely on the shaft.

“C’mon, Captain! There’s another!” he shouted.

Sure enough, just as the words escaped his lips, the fifth and final tower reached the walls, its ramp crashing onto the battlements. How she had grown to dread and hate that sound. They were too far down the walls to get to it before it unloaded another horde of giant skeleton warriors and zombies onto the parapets.

Rhaine _Turned_ once more, most of the skeletons falling and the zombies knocked prone with the wave of white power. The Ironfists then hurled blast globes at the fifth ramp, the resulting explosion and firestorm disabling the last tower and taking care of most of the zombies in the vicinity. At last, the final skeletal warrior fell to the Lizardfolk, and they all raised their voices in a victory cheer.

But then a panicked voice rang out from the gatehouse below her. “Captain! They’re still coming!”

“ _What_?”

“They’ve got mages! Oh, gods… they’re going to blast down the gatehouse!”

“Get away from the gates!” she shrieked.

There was a deafening explosion as the outer gatehouse was suddenly reduced to rubble in a gigantic blast, knocking everyone to their knees with its force.

“They’re coming through!” The soldiers cried.

“Fall back!” Rhaine yelled. “Cover one another and fall back to the inner courtyard!”

“We can make our stand there,” Khelgar added.

They scrambled down the wall stairs to the courtyard, where Nevalle and Kana waited, the former fully armored and the latter with a crossbow in her hands. The dawn was already rising, the sky tinted pink.

“Shut the gates!” Kana commanded. “The Captain has arrived with the remaining forces. And look! The sun has awakened! Garius may have arrived under the cover of darkness, but no doubt his army is now burning under Lathander’s power!”

Rhaine shook her head. “Don’t be too confident, Lieutenant. My friends will join the men on the walls, in case they try overwhelming the battlements again.” As if answering her, Sand, Qara, Elanee, and Neeshka dashed up the inner wall stairs.

“The King of Shadows will be hard pressed to breach the inner walls,” Kana replied. “Without their towers, they will be defenseless against our attacks from above.”

“Yes… defenseless,” came a voice. Bishop suddenly approached from the shadows near the inner gatehouse. “If you stay on the walls, you know, you might actually live through this. Maybe. Or maybe I’ll see you in the Shadow Army before dawn.”

“I don’t like your tone, ranger,” Rhaine growled, her heart pounding from more than adrenaline, now, as the hairs stood up on the back of her neck. “What are you talking about?”

“Heh, that’s too bad… right now, you’ve got bigger problems,” he replied curtly. “This gate of yours isn’t coming down, which means this precious little keep isn’t going to last very long.”

He waved an odd-looking gadget at her. “Don’t even try to repair the gate mechanism. I took a look at it earlier, and it was much easier to destroy than I thought. I doubt you’ll survive. But I will… because I am _never_ on the losing side.”

With that, he turned tail and dashed through the gates and out onto the battlefield before anyone could pursue.

“Captain!” Kana cried. “Your orders?”

“Soldiers of Crossroad Keep! Be strong!” Rhaine shouted. “We may yet win this day, and the sun has come to our aid! We must hold this courtyard as long as possible!”

At that moment, Zhjaeve and Ammon Jerro joined her side, along with Casavir and Khelgar. The warlock took her by the shoulders. “Aldanon’s made a breakthrough. He knows how to get us to Merdelain!”

“ _Know_ that we must take care of Garius first,” the githzerai interjected, pulling out her True Name scroll “No doubt he will join the fray soon, in an attempt to take your title from you.”

Suddenly, one of the soldiers on top of the inner gatehouse leaned over the walls and shouted in warning, “Kana! The undead… they don’t fear the light!”

“ _What_?” The Lieutenant’s eyes grew wide in a rare moment of shock.

“They’re not harmed by the sun! They’re coming… vampires, skeletons, _all of them!_ ”

“Hold the line!” Rhaine barked to the Greycloaks beside her. “Do not fear! Stand your ground!”

She cast another _Blade Barrier_ across the entrance to the courtyard, so any undead foolish enough to try and run through the open gate would be diced to pieces. It manifested just as a wave of vampires appeared. They hissed and spat upon seeing the barrier barring their way.

“ _Fire_!” Kana cried to the archers.

A volley of flaming arrows struck the vampires straight in their faces, while Sand and Qara rained fire spells upon them from the walls. Whilst the enemy was temporarily held back, Rhaine buffed her soldiers, casting blessings, prayers, and magical shields in a desperate attempt to keep everyone alive for as long as possible. Zhjaeve followed suit, adding her own power to their defenses.

But then, Rhaine’s barrier was abruptly dispelled in a flash of crackling energy, and the undead began to flood the courtyard. The Greycloak warriors surged forth against them as the archers fired upon their foes from the walls. Rhaine twirled and lunged left and right, each movement landing a blow, whether by _Touch of Death_ or the Sword of Gith. She thought the fighting would never end… they just kept coming and coming…

Finally, there was a lull, and she could hear herself gasping for breath in her helm. Around her was a veritable mountain of bones and rotting flesh, more than a few of her brave men mixed in with them. She had suffered several wounds in the fight, the jagged weapons of the skeletons having torn through her chainmail in places and stabbed between her plates, but her adrenaline kept her from feeling any pain. Casavir and Khelgar too were injured, blood trickling from a myriad of wounds in their arms and torsos.

“Captain!” Kana shouted, exchanging almost panicked looks with Sir Nevalle. “We can’t keep this up forever! There are too many, even with the sun!”

A blast of lightning then came through the front gates, electrocuting the handful of men nearest Rhaine and frying them alive in their armor. Garius himself appeared in another flash of light, an explosion of fire raining around her and destroying the wooden barricades that protected Kana and Nevalle.

“You can do _nothing_!” he spat. “You think dawn favors you, soldiers of Neverwinter? By my Lord’s grace, I can make even creatures of darkness unafraid of light with but a _thought_. And now, Captain, you will return my keep to me!”

He waved a skeletal hand, and a powerful nightwalker manifested, drawing its gigantic form from the shadowy blanket that threatened to engulf the castle. It towered above her, a humanoid monster of pitch blackness, its glowing white eyes the only distinguishing features about it.

“My Lord still waits at the threshold of this tiny world… but his avatar is more than enough to end you and your pathetic army!”

Fury boiling in her veins, Rhaine readied her weapons. “This time, the Sword _won’t break_!”

She launched into a heated melee with the shadow avatar, Ammon Jerro and Zhjaeve joining their spells to help her, Casavir and Khelgar fighting by her side. She dodged the massive blows of its clawed hands, retaliating with strikes of her own against this being of pure darkness. Each time the Sword of Gith made a pass through the nightwalker’s form, it flickered wildly, blinking in and out of existence…

… until finally, it burst into smoky ribbons, dissipating in the morning air like black mist.

“How?” Garius hissed, “How is this possible! The sword was broken! _BROKEN_!”

“The recitation!” Ammon shouted.

“Zhjaeve, hurry!” Rhaine yelled.

Garius leapt at Ammon. A wave of wraiths suddenly followed him through the gates and overwhelmed the Greycloaks. The warlock was knocked to the ground before the Doomguide could even react – but not before the True Names spilled from the githzerai’s lips like water, the power of the recitation slamming into Garius’s form. Suddenly vulnerable, stripped of almost all his power, the Reaver fled, teleporting away before he could be slain.

Despite this, with Garius no longer able to empower the undead, the wraiths exploded in the sunlight, the vampires on the battlefield scorching to ash, and the blanket of shadow retreated like a wave back into the ocean of blackness from which it had come.

“Dawn comes and the enemy flees!” Kana cried. “Wipe them out!”

The Greycloak warriors, pumped up by both adrenaline and fury, surged from the keep and gave chase, driving the shadow army before them in a roar. The men on the walls lifted their voices as Rhaine jumped to the battlements to watch the undead retreat, their cheers ringing off of the stone and echoing to the heavens.

“ _Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!_ ”

Rhaine, exhausted and nearly weeping with relief, fell to her knees in grateful prayer for their fortune.

_Thank you, my lord. Thank you... Kelemvor, Tyr, and Lathander, all._

Sir Nevalle then rushed up the wall stairs, placing a hand on her shoulder with his eyes sparkling in the dawn’s light. “This day is ours! You have done better than we could have hoped… your leadership has saved this Keep and many lives of the soldiers of Neverwinter. Lord Nasher thanks you, as do I.”

She shook her head, standing and raising her visor. “Thank the soldiers, Nevalle, not me. They are the ones who saved us, not me.”

“You all fought well,” he replied with a smile, though it was short-lived. “But as long as the King of Shadows remains within his fortress, we are without victory. I overheard Ammon saying Aldanon has discovered a way to get there. Rest and recover for a bit, but meet with him as soon as you can.”

\------------------------------------------------------

After a few hours of healing wounds, patching armor, and resting weary limbs, the companions at last gathered in the main room of the keep to meet with Aldanon, who held the Tome of Iltkazar and a quill in hand.

“Finally!” the sage exclaimed when he saw Rhaine. “This tome… the Tome of Iltkazar… quite a wondrous thing, really. I was able to use it to… well, ‘unfetter’ the connections between here and there.”

“Unfetter?” Nevalle inquired, brow furrowing. “And where exactly is ‘here’ and ‘there’?”

“Yes,” Aldanon continued, “you see, the pages of the book are like places… closed, the pages are right next to each other. Opened, they are apart, but still together. See?”

“That’s the most genius thing I ever heard!” Grobnar piped up, looking up at the construct beside him as if expecting it to agree.

Elanee scratched her head. “So, you’re saying that the book can make two places closer together?”

“Yes,” Aldanon replied with an emphatic nod. “The Tome can be used to make a doorway, and it can also pinpoint a location within the Vale of Merdelain.”

Sand snorted. “But what he’s _really_ saying is _he_ can teleport _us_ into the lethal heart of Merdelain, which everyone here seems to agree is such a _wondrous_ idea, for reasons unfathomable to me.”

“That’s it,” the sage nodded again. “Should work. In theory.”

“‘In theory’?” Rhaine raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry,” Sand reassured. “It should take us right where we need to go. Once unlocked, the Tome is said to be quite dependable.”

“Then we need to go, now,” Casavir insisted firmly, “before the King of Shadows has a chance to regroup.”

“ _Know_ that the Vale is the heart of Merdelain,” Zhjaeve observed, “but it is also the heart of the Illefarn Empire – what the King of Shadows was sworn to protect. We will be descending into ruins much like Arvahn.”

Elanee nodded her agreement. “Shadow seeps from that place and into the land. All of his strength radiates from there.”

“Oh, come on, Elanee,” Neeshka jibed. “What’s the worst that could happen? I mean… that we haven’t already faced?”

“The portal could take us to a different Vale,” Grobnar answered. “It’d be hard to get out of that one…”

“Enough talk!” Ammon snapped, patience obviously thinning. “Let’s go.”

“Very well,” Aldanon said with a sigh, waving his hand in the air. “Whenever you young folk are ready, I can send you off.”

At that, Rhaine took in a deep breath, looking around at her companions before letting it out slowly. Then, with a dip of her head, she said at last, “Let’s do this.”

“All right,” he said, quickly penning a few more words into the book. “Just a few more inscriptions and one last activation word…”

Nevalle saluted Rhaine. “Good fortune to you Captain.”

“And the same from me, Captain,” Kana added with a smile. “May the gods watch over you.”

“Good luck to you all!” Aldanon waved cheerily, a brilliant light beginning to fill the room. “You will most likely die, but try to keep that from your mind.”

A sudden lurching sensation gripped the pit of Rhaine’s stomach, the world became a dizzying blur around her, and then everything went black.


	18. Descent into Darkness

“Where are we?”

When the lurching sensation finally stopped, the blackness receded to reveal the dimly lit interior of an Illefarn ruin, cerulean crystals glowing here and there along the dank walls. The air around them was thick, still, and bone-chilling. The ceilings were low, adding to the oppressive atmosphere, and there were seemingly bottomless pools of dark water surrounding their landing point. Drips and splashes were the only sounds in an otherwise eerily silent chamber, and Rhaine felt the hairs standing up on the back of her neck in warning.

“Great!” Qara’s voice rang loudly off of the damp stones. “We always go to the _best_ places in the Realms. Are you sure that stupid book took us to the right one?”

The Doomguide looked around, her skin crawling as her vision tried to penetrate the black shadows in the corners of the room; a singular long corridor lay ahead of them, but even with her half-elven eyes, it was difficult to make out. “This is it, I can feel it. It’s just not as close as we wanted to be…”

“Agreed,” Zhjaeve added lowly, her own yellow eyes scanning their surroundings. “ _Know_ that this is indeed the Vale of Merdelain. But something has kept us from reaching the ritual chamber directly.”

“So the book _was_ worthless, then,” the sorceress threw her hands in the air in exasperation.

“We wouldn’t even be here without it, you idiot _girl_!” Sand hissed in annoyance. “So I suggest-”

“ _Hush!_ ” Rhaine commanded sharply. “Both of you! This is _not_ the time for inane squabbling. We need to get moving, but we should stay close together. No doubt the King of Shadows will attempt to separate us.”

“Um,” Grobnar began, timidly raising his small hand, “I don’t think Neeshka heard you. She’s, well, gone.”

“ _What_?”

The companions all glanced about frantically at his words, hands on their weapons as they tried to spot her, but the tiefling was indeed nowhere to be found. There wasn’t even a sign of where she might have gone. Panicked expressions crossed all of their faces.

“She… she was right here!” Khelgar stammered, pointing to the space beside him with his mouth agape. “Just now! How…?” 

Elanee stiffened, fear evident in her eyes. “The shadows have taken her.”

The githzerai’s own eyes narrowed. “ _Know_ we must indeed keep together, not only in body but in mind as well… or we shall be picked off. Let us hope we can find her as we go.”

“I agree with the gith,” Ammon growled, drawing his falchion. “Stay focused, and move quickly. We have no time to waste.”

The companions formed a tight wad – Casavir and Khelgar flanking Rhaine in the lead; Qara, Sand and Grobnar bringing up the rear; Zhjaeve, Ammon, and Elanee were then sandwiched in between. The Construct lumbered along behind them at its own slow pace, metal rattling with every step and the horns on its “head” nearly grazing the ceiling as it went.

They traversed the maze-like corridors of the Vale in this manner for what seemed like hours, often walking in circles and facing many dead ends. Wraiths, living shadows, vampires, and even mummies awaited them at almost every turn. Rhaine and the other spellcasters attempted to keep their magic in reserve, only using their powers when absolutely necessary, knowing it was unlikely they could rest here for any length of time. Melee was difficult against these creatures, but it was better than wasting precious energy – energy they knew they would need when facing the King of Shadows himself.

Finally, they approached a steep stairwell leading down to a narrow bridge that spanned another large pool of still, black water. There, on the opposite end of the bridge, three Shadow Reavers lay in wait for them. The companions ducked behind a pair of plinths on either side of the staircase, none of them eager to move forward after glimpsing what was ahead.

“Oh, gods,” Sand whispered, plastering himself against the damp wall, his pale blue eyes wide in horror. “There’s _three_ of them! How can we kill three Reavers at once?”

“ _Know_ that Ammon Jerro and I can recite the True Names for two of them, but the third will need to be held off until the first are defeated,” Zhjaeve murmured.

“Do we cast spells _now_?” Qara asked, obviously itching to exercise her powers on these foes.

“No,” Rhaine answered shortly, shaking her head. “These Reavers are more than capable of shrugging off the greatest of magics… it would be a waste of effort. Casavir? Khelgar? Can you both hold your own in melee against a Reaver?”

The paladin nodded grimly. “I can.”

Khelgar looked intimidated, but tightened his grip on his axe nonetheless. “I see where you’re going with this, lass. I don’t like it, but if I have to do it, then I will.”

The Doomguide drew her swords. “Then let’s do this. Ammon? Zhjaeve? Be ready to recite on my signal. The rest of you stay put unless I call for you.”

Casavir and Khelgar emerged from their hiding places and followed Rhaine to the middle of the bridge. She fully expected the Reavers to attack her on sight, but she stopped when she realized that the three weren’t moving. The middle Reaver finally stepped forward, looking her up and down with his flame-wreathed skull. As he spoke, she recognized him as the one she had banished in the ruins outside of West Harbor.

“Ah,” he began, voice echoing throughout the chamber. “We have been expecting you. All that our master needed, you so kindly brought with you. We thank you, Shard-Bearer. He has more plans for you, you know, but I do not think you need to be alive to fulfill that purpose.”

“Now!” Rhaine cried.

The threesome charged the rest of the way across the bridge and engaged the Reavers one-on-one. As they kept these shadow servants occupied, Zhjaeve and Ammon stepped from behind the plinths and began their recitations, chanting the True Names in unison. The githzerai targeted Casavir’s foe, while Ammon focused on Khelgar’s opposition. Rhaine herself was left on her own to fend off the third Reaver until either the gith or the warlock could turn their attention to her.

The reaver had obviously learned from his past experience with her that Rhaine was not to be underestimated. His skill with his scythe had improved, and everywhere her weapons struck, his own was there to meet them with sparks flying. He attempted to magically daze her twice; she was able to shrug off the effects, but only barely – her mind swam as she struggled to keep her focus.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, both recitations discharged from the scrolls, white light enveloping two of the Reavers. Casavir quickly dispatched one, and then dashed to aid Khelgar against the other. Zhjaeve immediately began another recitation for Rhaine as the two warriors jumped to her defense, backing the Reaver into the far wall. At last, the third blast of magic slammed into his form, and the Doomguide’s swords quickly ended him.

The rest of the group caught up with the threesome, then, Elanee and Zhjaeve quickly patching up their wounds. As they waited a few moments to catch their breath, they looked around again. There appeared to be only one way forward, now. Ahead of them was a strange set of double doors, more elaborately engraved than any of the other portals in the ruin.

“Do you think we’re close?” Khelgar asked, hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his brow.

“We are,” Ammon answered with a curt nod. “The shadows are thicker and the air is heavier. Our foe is nearby.”

“ _Know_ that we must proceed carefully,” Zhjaeve reminded them. “What we have faced thus far is nothing compared to the King of Shadows himself.”

They reformed their close-knit group, advancing towards the doors with growing trepidation, all of a sudden very keenly aware of their mortality, knowing it was quite possible that none of them would make it out of this alive.

\------------------------------------------------------

When Rhaine finally opened the doors, there was nothing in the room ahead to greet them. It appeared to be a lavish – albeit empty – ritual chamber, with many stone figures of the goddess Angharaddh gracing the walls… including five Statues of Purification. Large azure crystals, like those they had seen upon their arrival, illuminated the chamber in a cold and eerie glow. The ceiling was domed, soaring at least fifty feet above their heads. And there, in the middle of the floor, was what appeared to be a thin blanket of shadow – wisps of black, smoke-like particles pooling in a swirling mass at the center of the room.

“Those statues,” Ammon said as he pointed them out, “are for the Ritual of Purification. We’ll need to do it quickly if we are to stop the King of Shadows from breaking through to this plane. He is far too close for comfort already. I’m assuming you remember your parts?”

“I do.” Rhaine nodded shortly. “Let’s-”

But she was cut off as a familiar form suddenly moved from behind a hand-shaped statue near the shadowy mass. It was Neeshka, her armor torn and her body covered in cuts and bruises, dripping dark blood on the floor of the chamber.

She smiled up at them weakly. “I kept holding on… waiting for you. I knew you would come… it was the only thing that kept me going…”

The tiefling trailed as she then collapsed to her knees.

Zhjaeve rushed forward. “ _Know_ that I will tend to her wounds.”

Rhaine, too, approached, kneeling and taking Neeshka’s face in her hands. “Gods, what happened to you?”

The thief’s visage hardened, her red-brown eyes flashing as she spoke through gritted teeth. “It was _Garius_ … he tortured me… tried to get me to turn on you…”

Zhjaeve quickly finished with her wounds. Her strength returned, Neeshka stood abruptly, seizing Rhaine by the arm. “We can’t stay here… we’ve got to leave this awful place. _Now_. We’ve got to get out of here before-”

“Watch out!” came Khelgar’s warning cry as a blast of electricity abruptly knocked both the rogue and Doomguide to the ground. Rhaine’s armor clattered on the stone as she scrambled to get back to her feet.

Garius had appeared, a pair of blade golems flanking him.

“Well, well, well,” he began, his floating mandible waggling as he spoke. “You made it all the way here. I am impressed. Truly. But really, what did you think coming here would accomplish? You have done much to hinder our war efforts, and now you will answer for it… and you alone.”

Rhaine glanced around at her many friends. “Alone? I think not, Garius.”

“Ah, and there is where you are wrong, Knight-Captain,” the Reavers’ leader replied darkly, “as you have been about so many things. Your companions… for them, I am prepared to offer mercy. You led them, you ordered them. I spoke at length with Neeshka, here, and with others you have traveled with.”

“What are you implying?” Rhaine demanded. “My companions would never betray me.”

“You have already felt the fractures growing within your tiny group,” Garius continued. “Perhaps there are those among you who can think for themselves and recognize the _true_ enemy here.”

“ _Bishop_ ,” Casavir growled as the ranger himself appeared from the shadows.

“My debt to you is over, Knight-Captain,” Bishop began, bow held ready in hand, “and the strange thing is… I’m a little sorry about it. For what it’s worth, I almost kept going for you, right there until the end. But your Uncle… it’s hard to get past that part of it even… even with everything else.”

“ _What_?” Rhaine exclaimed. “If _that’s_ the reason you’re doing this, it’s wrong!”

“I can’t help it,” the ranger replied with a sniff. “Getting tied down… even to a _feeling_ for someone, just isn’t my style. The most frustrating thing about it?” He shook his head, chuckling mirthlessly, “I thought it was going to be easy to hate you, just like I do Duncan… and yet I don’t. At all. But you see, that’s the reason it’s going to end like this. I’m not going to be tied to any _one_ or any _thing_ ever again. I saw you and the paladin up on those walls…”

At that the Doomguide was flabbergasted, so shocked and frustrated she could barely form words. “So… so you betrayed me because you were _jealous_? Is that it? You thought Casavir and I… you…” She glanced to the paladin, who was slowly shaking his head in dismay. “I can’t believe you! And now you’re going to try and _kill_ me, too?”

“It wasn’t entirely about you,” Bishop countered sharply. “You just ended up being the most important part of it. And yeah, that was the plan.”

“Can… can you at least tell me _why_?”

“Oh, do go on, Bishop,” Garius remarked with a casual hand wave. “We have all the time in the world. Our master will be here, soon, and then none of this will matter.”

The ranger sighed. “You see, Duncan saved my life once… found me outside my burning village with dead Luskans all around me. I was the one who burned the place to the ground, and I didn’t want any witnesses. But then Duncan comes along, just when I was wounded and barely hanging on, and I had no way to keep him quiet. That’s it, just settling debts that never should have been made to start with.”

“I don’t understand… why did you burn down your village?”

“It was part of a Luskan initiation rite into an assassination squad… like Lorne was once part of. It’s something they order all new recruits to do, whether they like it or not. And I don’t care for that too much. But I also didn’t like the place where I grew up… the place that turned me into the fine, _upstanding_ young man you see before you. So I saw the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.” He shrugged. “I was going to burn the village _and_ kill the Luskans watching me. But the villagers didn’t leave when I told them, and so they died, too.

“I took some arrows… and to be honest, I didn’t think I was going to make it. I was too weak to fight back, and it didn’t matter, because for the first time I felt all of those chains coming off of me.” He chuckled again. “But then Duncan came along… tying me back to that place, to Luskan, to the past. He saved my life and then I _owed_ him. _That_ was what he was blackmailing me with in the Flagon so long ago. He called his debt due, and that debt was to help you. And I had to, lest he tell everybody that I was the one who was at that village that day. I don’t like obligations like that… obligations like _you_ ,” he finished, staring her in the eyes with his own dark gaze – a gaze that now seemed hollow and lifeless.

“So you’ve traded one master for another,” Rhaine replied quietly, “and where has that gotten you?”

“Say what you will,” he hissed, grip tightening on his bow, “after this, none of it is going to matter anyway.”

“Come now, Bishop,” Garius interjected sharply, “let’s be done with this. Our master waits.”

Rhaine’s brow rose. He eyes flicked back and forth between Garius and Bishop and, following a gut feeling, as inquired, “Was that an order I just heard?”

Bishop caught her look and then whirled on Garius. “You watch it! I’m no one’s lackey anym-”

“I think we’ve heard enough from this knight of Neverwinter,” Garius snapped, “and from you, ranger. Now be silent!”

“Is that so?” Bishop answered, backing away with a wry smile on his face, even as Rhaine saw his throat bob in a heavy swallow. “Well, in that case, you can handle the Shard-Bearer on your own. After all, you really don’t need me, do you? I think it would be best if you stopped having people stand between you and the Knight-Captain, here. Torio, Lorne, your Reaver friends… I’m not going to fight your battles for you.”

“You will die here if you leave, Bishop!” Garius roared. “I will come for you when I am finished here!”

But the ranger melted into the shadows with another heartless chuckle. “Garius… _you’re_ going to die if you stay.”

The Reaver spun back towards Rhaine, obviously enraged now. “You were never a true leader! Even with the ritual and the Sword of Gith at your side, did you really believe that _all_ of your companions would follow you unto death? I think not!”

“ _Know_ that the choice is a simple one, Garius!” Zhjaeve interrupted. “If you fight one of us, you fight us all.”

“Ah, of course. But let us ask each in turn, and we will see the truth. And dear Neeshka… let’s start with her, just to drive the blade home.”

Khelgar looked utterly abashed. “What? Neeshka?”

“I tortured her, yes,” Garius continued, voice dripping with perverse pleasure at his admission, “and cutting open your fiendling ally here revealed some interesting truths beneath the skin. It turns out that your half demon companion has just the right touch of infernal blood in her veins to make some ancient Illefarn binding spells take root… provided you shed enough of that blood on these stones. She must have a most unusual heritage to carry such power, even as thinned as it is. And once she ran out of screams, she learned to obey… didn’t you, my darling?”

“You’ll see the Hells soon enough, Garius,” Neeshka quipped darkly. “I promise you that.”

“Don’t fight against the binding overmuch,” the Reaver replied quietly. “Save your energy for the battle that is to come. And really, I think the execution of this irritating Knight-Captain is a small price to pay for your freedom… and much better than the alternative.”

Suddenly, Neeshka groaned loudly, moving as if she were being pulled by an invisible string towards Black Garius’s side. Her hands clutched at her head, and she doubled over in pain. In her eyes was a clear mixture of agony and horror, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet the gazes of her companions. “I… I’m so sorry… but it’s like the whole weight of Illefarn is pressing down on me… this whole fortress, all at once!”

“Come on, fiendling,” Khelgar encouraged. “Fight it!”

Rhaine met Neeshka’s eyes, a pleading in her voice. “Please, Neeshka. Don’t allow youself to succumb to this! You can fight it, I know you can. You’re a strong woman… the best _hrasting_ thief in Neverwinter… and we need you!”

There were several moments of silence as the tiefling met her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks in rivers. Suddenly, with an anguished cry, she leapt back to Rhaine’s side, drawing her daggers and crouching beside the Doomguide with her tail lashing violently from side to side in sheer fury. “I can’t do this! I _won’t_ do this! By the Hells, I’m not going to turn against the one person who showed me kindness… and if it costs me my life, so be it!”

Garius growled. “You will pay for your disobedience… shortly. But there are yet others who even now question their loyalty.” He turned to face the grey-robed wizard. “Sand. I know you studied at the Hosttower… the power that slipped from your grasp there can still be yours. The relics you saw… they are nothing compared to the power of the Illefarn.”

Sand chuckled as if laughing at a joke, waving his hand in the air. “I think I’ll pass, thanks. As alluring as the knowledge of the Illefarn may be, I know all too well what happens to allies of the King of Shadows when the Knight-Captain here is around. It’s a risk I’m simply not willing to take.”

“But you, Qara,” the Reaver then confronted the sorceress, “what about you? You now have the opportunity to exercise your power as much as you like. Imagine if it were increased a hundred fold! No orders. No books or tomes. No _restraint_. Have your companions offered you anything but open hostility? I think not. They are narrow-minded fools, another Academy you need to cut yourself from.”

“What, and have you turn _me_ into a book after I’ve roasted everyone for you?” Qara retorted. “All you stupid Luskans are the same, wanting lackeys to fight your battles for you while taking all the credit for the power you obviously don’t have. You’re worse than my father, and that’s saying something. The fumes of your own stench must have finally gotten to your brain with your skin gone.”

Rhaine heard Sand let out a long breath through his nose.

“Perhaps your tongue won’t be quite so quick after I cut it out while you still breathe!” Garius hissed. “But let us keep going, shall we? There are more of you, after all. How about… Ammon Jerro? History can be rewritten this hour! And all of those wasted decades need not have been in vain. The contracts that bind you to the Hells can easily be broken… and the githyanki can be taken care of just as simply. You need not fear either group ever again. And Shandra need not remain dead… we can bring her back to you.”

“You can promise all you like, Garius,” Ammon answered darkly, hefting his falchion. “But I have seen Rhaine _accomplish_ so much more than you could ever dream of. And just for mentioning Shandra to me, I will enjoy watching you die.”

“Very well, have it your way,” Garius said finally, waving his hands in the air. There was a strange lurching sensation agian, and they abruptly found themselves separated from each other by magical walls, shoved behind and between the Statues of Purification in a great many individual prisons. Another barrier ringed the center of the room, linking the statues in a circle, and the shadows on the floor grew substantially thicker in that moment.

“Forgive me, but I must protect the portal from the bloodshed to come. After all, the King of Shadows is almost here.”

A torturous wailing ensued, and red-eyed wraiths suddenly manifested around each of the companions, Garius beginning to rain deadly magic upon them. The spellcasters frantically raised elemental shields in an attempt to deflect the Reaver’s significant power, thankful they had kept their energies in reserve. Those who were unable to protect themselves in such a manner – namely Casavir and Khelgar - were suddenly quite vulnerable. Rhaine knew that if Garius wasn’t stopped soon, they would be severely weakened in a matter of moments.

She _Turned_ the wraiths, feeling a surge of power as those undead immediately surrounding her were immobilized. Once they were rendered prone in such a manner, she turned her attention to Garius, casting a _Silence_ spell that made him unable to cast anything with voiced invocations. It was just the break her companions needed. As the Doomguide returned her focus to the wraiths near her, calling down a _Bond_ to strike one of them down in a swath of green flame, Zhjaeve managed to dispel the magical barrier between her and Rhaine.

With the aid of the githzerai, the Doomguide made short work of the wraiths and then dispelled the second barrier between her and where Sand and Qara were trapped together. The sorceress had cast a _Stoneskin_ charm, and now looked to be a walking statue as she rained her own lethal powers upon Garius alongside her fellow arcane practitioner. Sand then cast a _Missile Storm_ , pummeling the Reaver with raw arcane energy before dashing towards the approaching gith and the Doomguide.

“Elanee!” he shouted, pointing to where the druidess had been trapped. The wood elf was pinned down by the wraiths, her life force draining more and more the longer the undead remained near her, her flesh paling. Together, Rhaine and Sand dispelled the magical wall next to Elanee and charged to her aid. With a _Flame Strike_ , the Doomguide was able to destroy nearly all of the wraiths near the elf, Zhjaeve following up with her own _Bombardment_ spell.

The flaming meteors from the githzerai’s invocation slammed into yet another barrier, shaking the very foundation of the chamber and letting Casavir free from his prison. The paladin then fearlessly charged towards Garius alongside Khelgar, who had broken down his own wall from sheer strength alone. Both warriors had suffered severe lacerations from the wraiths and burns from Garius’s spells, but kept going, driven by adrenaline and fury.

Construct and Grobnar then broke through their own cage, the mighty golem facing off with the two similar constructs that Garius had brought with him. Grobnar added his own acidic arrows to the mix, quickly corroding the joints of the golems with strategically-placed arrows. His pompadour was scorched and his leathers charred in places, but there was an anger the likes of which Rhaine had never seen writ on the gnome’s little face.

Neeshka herself moved far more sluggishly than usual as she struggled against the binding spell that Garius had put her under. Still, she was quicker than the wraiths, and she managed to dodge their blows as Elanee’s _Ice Storm_ crashed into the magic wall – shards of ice flying everywhere. The wraiths were reduced in number enough now that a second _Turning_ from Rhaine destroyed them outright.

Ammon was the last to break through, focusing his attention on the Reaver now that all of the wraiths had been dispatched. The warlock engaged in a heated duel with Garius, the air crackling, snapping, and filling with the smell of ozone as the two fired one spell after the other, each deflected with clever counterspells just in the nick of time. For a moment, several of the companions stood entranced as they watched the deadly duel before finally snapping free from their awestruck daze and returning to the fray.

A blade golem was the first to fall to Khelgar’s axe, then the second golem to Grobnar’s arrows and Sand’s deconstructive spells. At last, with a roar of rage, Garius himself was slain by Rhaine’s swords, torn to smoldering bits by _Touch of Death_ and the Sword of Gith… until there was nothing left of him but a pile of smoking ash upon the floor.

\------------------------------------------------------

There was a pervading silence in the ritual chamber, now. Garius’s ashes lay still in front of the ever-growing pool of darkness, the recitation of True Names from Crossroad Keep having kept him from reanimating. At long last, the final Shadow Reaver was dead. They turned their attention to each other for a few moments, making sure that the most serious of their wounds were healed. But then, suddenly, the shadowy mass began to swell before them, pulling itself upright and taking shape as a portal. They all began subconsciously backing away from it, clutching their weapons.

“Looks like the portal is opening anyway, no matter what we do!” Khelgar exclaimed, his eyes wide. “But I swear I’m going down fighting!”

“It’s too late for the Ritual to stop him from coming through, true,” Ammon added hastily. “But we can still use it to weaken him. There is still hope!”

As he said this, the portal expanded again, violet sparks erupting along its edges until a towering figure stepped through. It was at least twenty feet high, a massive nightwalker, garbed in bits of rusted chain and torn leather. It wore a skull-like helm, decorated with spiraling, glowing horns. Flowing behind it was a long and tattered cape, floating as if the nightwalker were underwater rather than on solid land. It spoke, then, voice deep and rasping as it set its white-hot eyes upon Rhaine.

“It is _you_. I know why you have come. In you, I see a blind devotion to good… to the illusion of peace. Why, then, would you deprive this land of its Guardian?”

Rhaine looked up at the nightwalker, intrepidly meeting his glowing gaze. “You guard nothing, King of Shadows! Your empire is long dead, and you wreak destruction upon innocent lives!”

“Even such denouncements are a threat,” the once-Guardian replied flatly, a pair of gigantic curved blades manifesting in his hands from nothingness, “and so you must be cleansed, just like the rest. So be it.”

“The Ritual! Now!” Ammon yelled, dashing to one of the statues.

Rhaine wasted no time, running to another statue on the opposite side of the chamber. As her companions engaged the King of Shadows to distract him, she laid her hand upon the statue’s surface, whispering the words that Zhjaeve had taught her at Arvahn. A burst of bright light followed, and a magical force field manifested itself between the King of Shadows and her companions, rendering his attacks useless against them – a _Shining Shield_. At that moment, Ammon also completed his own recitation, and another burst of light formed a _Web of Purity_ across the room, trapping the King of Shadows in a cage of blinding divine power.

Rhaine sprinted to the third statue, repeating her invocation and causing the Ritual to revitalize her companions with the _Soothing Light_ , restoring their wearied limbs and regenerating their remaining wounds. The fourth statue then emitted a wave of shimmering rainbow power that latched itself onto her friends’ weapons – the _Aurora Chain_. The fifth caused a ring of white energy to slam into the King of Shadows as he was caught within the _Web of Purity_.

With the powers of the Ritual of Purification then strengthening their weapons and rendering the King of Shadows unable to maneuver properly, they unleashed their magics against him in full. Khelgar, Casavir, and Neeshka kept his massive swords occupied whilst the rest of them brought all of their mightiest spells to bear against him.

And then, suddenly, the King of Shadows flickered once, and was gone.

\------------------------------------------------------

They all looked around for a moment, first to all sides of the chamber, then to each other, surprise evident in their eyes. Rhaine raised her visor, her brow furrowed. No. That couldn’t be it. It was too easy.

“Well, that wasn’t at all what I had expected,” Khelgar commented, brushing himself off.

“Wait,” Casavir said, cocking his head slightly, “This isn’t over.”

“ _Know_ that the King of Shadows’s influence is still strong,” Zhjaeve added, “Brace yourselves.”

Then, the shadows returned, settling upon the Statues of Purification like a dark sheet.

“Uh-oh,” Neeshka’s eyes widened.

“The statues!” Ammon exclaimed.

Before the words had even left his lips, a dozen miniature Kings of Shadow sprang into existence. They threatened to overwhelm the companions, racing across the chambers with impossible speed in void-black blurs. Elanee and Sand then attempted to even the odds. The druidess summoned an air elemental before calling a _Lightning Storm_ , electricity crackling all about them. Sand then summoned his own floating sword to his side and invoked another _Missile Storm_. Grobnar cast a _Haste_ spell and backed against the far wall, rapid-firing acid arrows whilst his Construct swung its blade arms violently at the knee-high shadows. Rhaine herself called the _Hammer of the Gods_ and Zhjaeve cast her own _Sunburst_ , both spells impacting the clones simultaneously, the room filling with blinding golden power.

And then, Rhaine felt a strange pulling in the Sword of Gith, as if the pieces of the blade wanted to fly from their places along the ghostly edge. Overwhelmed with a sudden idea, she relaxed her mind’s subconscious grip on the sword, letting the shards do what they seemingly wanted to do...

… and they flew from the blade with incredible force, whistling towards the small shadows and ripping through each black form, eliciting shrieks from the tiny copies. They boomeranged around the room – ricocheting off the walls but never once striking her companions – flashing like brilliant stars before returning to the hilt in Rhaine’s hand and retaking their former places.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the last miniature dissipated, leaving them once again in deafening silence.

Khelgar panted, leaning with his hands on his knees. “For every one I killed, another got back up!”

Then, the shadows coalesced on the floor again, this time in a wider swath. Rhaine could feel the negative energies building and building, causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end once more. It was as if the strange presence was now angrier than it ever had been…

“Stay alert,” Ammon warned with a growl. “This is _not_ over.”

The darkness slowly grew, taller and taller, until it nearly grazed the ceiling in height. The King of Shadows himself manifested again with a bang, this time almost twice his previous size. His swords returned to his hands, they, too, twice larger than they had been before. He loomed over them, crouched in an aggressive stance.

“My,” Grobnar whimpered weakly. “And I thought he was big before!”

“The statues!” Ammon exclaimed suddenly. “I’m certain they are empowering him! We have to destroy them if we are to ever achieve victory!”

“But the Ritual-”

He grabbed Rhaine fiercely by the shoulders. “That doesn’t matter now! We’ve weakened him enough that we can beat him with the Sword of Gith alone! He’s using them as a crutch, and we must take them out from under him!”

The King of Shadows roared, the chamber quaking with the sound.

“Destroy the statues!” the Doomguide shouted, charging forward to meet the nightwalker head-on.

_My lord, guide my hands…_

She had never fought so hard in her life. Rhaine swung her pair of swords faster than she thought she ever could, parrying the King of Shadows’s impossibly swift blows. One slip… one mistake… and it would all be over. Her muscles burned, her legs felt like jelly, and sweat trickled all over her body under her armor, but she couldn’t stop – couldn’t give up. Not now. Not this close. Her frustration came out as a scream of hatred and fury that somehow empowered her weary limbs with its strength.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash as Ammon and Zhjaeve dismantled one of the Statues of Purification. It gave her a bit of hope… there were only four more left to go. But the King of Shadows never tired, never faltered in his constant barrage of blows. And she was growing weaker whether she liked it or not.

Sand and Elanee destroyed the second statue with another resounding crash, followed by Qara, Grobnar, and Construct demolishing the third. Together, the companions converged on the final two Statues of Purification, pouring every last bit of their strength into tearing them apart.

When at last they fell in plumes of dust, the King of Shadows faltered, and Rhaine’s swords landed _solid_ blows on the gigantic nightwalker’s legs. The Sword of Gith tore through the shadowy form, trailing dark wisps as it seemed to take the King of Shadows’s very essence with it. Again and again she struck him with savage cries, the silver sword flashing with power as it ate at the living darkness like flame consuming tinder. His form began to flicker again, and he howled as a white light grew rapidly within him, consuming his body from the inside bit by bit…

… until he finally burst apart, dissolving into nothing but wisps of black smoke.

The King of Shadows was, at last, dead.

Forever.

\------------------------------------------------------

The resulting explosion sent an abrupt tremor through the ruin. And then another, stronger than the first.

And then another.

Suddenly, there was a loud groaning sound. The companions looked up at the source… only to see the dome above them cracking at an alarming rate.

“This place is going to come down on top of us!”

“Run!”

At once they sheathed their weapons and fled, dashing through the winding corridors as fast as their wearied legs would take them. The trembling in the ruin grew ever stronger with each stride, and they were knocked down as one of the halls collapsed ahead of them.

Suddenly, as she pursued her comrades out of the crumbling Vale, something hard struck Rhaine in the head, and her vision went utterly black. She felt her body fall, could feel several rough hands take hold of her – lifting and carrying her. She could hear her companions yelling in anger and fear…

“Rhaine!”

“Let go of her!”

“They’re taking her away! After them!”

Another roar rumbled in her ears as a second hall collapsed, her companions’ voices fainter now.

“No… _NO!_ ”

“We’re not going to make it, are we?”

“ _Know_ that our path has come to an end.”

There was a final deafening crash, and the Knight-Captain completely lost consciousness.

\------------------------------------------------------

Sir Nevalle’s eyes had been fixed to the south for hours. He stood atop the battlements of Crossroad Keep with Lord Nasher, gaze locked on the Mere, far in the distance. And then, he saw it at last. The shadows began to retreat… dissolve, actually, into the very atmosphere, as if they had never been.

“They… they did it!” he exclaimed, grabbing Nasher by the arm and pointing. “My lord, look!”

“I see, Nevalle. We shall have to congratulate them when… wait. What is that?”

They continued to watch, enraptured, as it seemed that the eastern side of the Mere of Dead Men collapsed into the ground around it, a gigantic plume of dust creating an ever-growing brown cloud over the swamp.

“Did it… did it just cave in on itself?” Nasher inquired, his eyes widening.

There was a distant clap of thunder, and a drizzle began to fall upon the keep.

“I… I think it did, my lord.”

They waited a few moments with bated breath, the drizzle steadily becoming harder, until the rain made it difficult to see. There was no movement in the distance beyond that grey veil – nothing but a strange stillness.

“Nevalle, do you believe they could have…?” he trailed, unsure if he should even finish his sentence.

The knight shook his head, silent tears mixing with the rain.

“No, milord.”


	19. The Beast Within

The pain… gods, the pain. There was no way she could be dead and hurt this much.

Raw agony surged like fire through her veins – even her very _bones_ – with each pulse of her heart. It felt as if something were sitting on top of her, pressing her face down into a slab of solid stone so hard she thought they would become one at any moment. Her right cheek lay on its cold, damp surface, the bone grinding into the rock. Judging from the lingering sting there, the skin of her face had been cut, bruised, or both. The smell of damp earth and mold tickled her nostrils, and the steady, echoing trickle of water surrounded her… was she still underground?

Finally, with great difficulty, Rhaine opened her eyes. She was no longer in the Vale of Merdelain, that was for certain. The Doomguide lifted her head with a tremendous effort and sluggishly looked around, squinting in the darkness. She was in what appeared to be a circular cavern, on a dais surrounded by small waterfalls. The walls were inscribed with glowing and glittering red-violet runes depicting primitive men and wild animals.

Where was she?

Rhaine tried to remember what had happened to her – her companions and the King of Shadows. But for some reason, she could not. It was like trying to penetrate an iron wall… as if the memories were not even extant, much less accessible to her mind. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by her pain again, and she slumped back down to the rock with a groan.

Then, slowly turning her face to her left, the Doomguide gasped aloud, her heart leaping into her throat at the sudden fright that briefly overtook her. There, laying just adjacent to her, its jaw unhinged as if in a silent scream, was a humanoid skeleton… so old that its bones were beginning to crumble to dust upon the stone. Death had surrounded her for so much of her life in its various forms that she no longer feared it, but there was something about this sight right next to her that shook her to the core.

Her armor, she saw at last, was scattered all around her as if someone had unceremoniously dumped it there, along with _Touch of Death_ , tantalizingly out of reach. But the Sword of Gith was gone entirely, as well as her cloak and her pack. A shiver wracked her battered body, and she realized she was wearing only her underclothes. A moment of panic arrested her. If someone wanted to kill her, now was the ideal time to do it – she was prone and completely defenseless.

Unable to remain silent, she groaned again as her entire chest cavity was consumed with a persistent, throbbing ache all the way to the bone. Sliding a hand beneath her sternum to feel what was wrong, she gasped again as her fingers felt stickiness there, in addition to the taut strings of stitches. Tentatively, she slowly pulled the hand away and brought it to her face where she could see. It was covered with dark blood, still somewhat fresh, and her eyes widened as she began to understand just what had happened to her…

Someone had taken the shard from her chest. Carved it out of her and left her in this place.

Struggling to gather her power, she tried to whisper a healing spell, but the pain was so great she could not focus. Her mind was fogged, and the harder she tried, the dizzier she became. It was then the Knight-Captain was filled with despair – if she could not heal herself, she would eventually die of blood loss. Despite the fact that the wound was clotting, it was still open and slowly bleeding onto the rock beneath her; the efforts to stitch it together must have been hurried and shoddy at best.

And then her fear twisted into something… _sinister_. She felt strangely empty, like a part of herself was missing and something awful and dark had replaced it – a void-like _presence_ that had been starved for centuries. It was as if some sort of monster had been chained within her somehow, and it was angry; it felt ancient… primal.

It was _hungry_. And she was terrified at its presence, writhing slowly within her like an awakening beast. She knew her self and her power, and this was not naturally part of either…

Suddenly, she heard a voice – feminine in tone – reciting a dispelling incantation, bringing her focus to the world around her again with a rush of adrenaline that made her heart hurt worse. All at once, the force that bound her to the rock face was lifted, and she briefly felt lighter than air in its absence… but she still did not have the strength to move her limbs. Her skin then flinched like a horse’s hide as she felt a cool, bare hand upon her back, and the voice said gently, “I’m here. Lie still.”

Two hands then slowly and carefully turned her over, and she could see the speaker clearly now in the light of the runes. A woman, yes… bald, and upon her scalp had been inked a very large, elaborate tattoo in shimmering black ink. Her hazel eyes were almond-shaped, her heart-shaped face punctuated with a small nose and painted ruby lips. An expression of both curiosity and concern was writ upon her delicate features as she looked down at Rhaine. She wore long, elaborate scarlet robes, embroidered in gold, with a satchel hanging at her side.

The Doomguide attempted to speak, but her throat was painfully parched, and she barely managed to croak out, “Who are you?”

The woman had removed some bandages from her satchel, and she immediately set about cleaning Rhaine’s wound, applying a thick healing ointment, and wrapping her torso in gauze. “My name is Safiya. And you are Rhaine Alcinea, are you not?”

The Doomguide nodded, something around her neck jangling with the movement – her holy symbol. Safiya reached for it, as if to straighten where it currently lay against Rhaine’s throat, and then cocked her head curiously. “A Kelemvorite? Not many of those around here.”

Rhaine watched Safiya for a long while as she continued to bandage her wound, wondering why this complete stranger was helping her. How did she know her name? And how did she know she needed help, enough to arrive in the nick of time? She continued to stare at the fabric of Safiya’s red robes, as if they would jog her memory somehow, but her brain was unnaturally sluggish. Even the simplest of thoughts took an incredible amount of concentration.

But then, all of a sudden, it clicked.

“You,” the priestess swallowed hard, her tongue dry and slightly swollen in her mouth. “Your robes and your tattoo… they mark you as a Red Wizard of Thay.”

Thayan enclaves were not uncommon outside of their nation of origin, but they were rare enough that Rhaine was surprised at Safiya’s presence here. If “here” was where she thought she was.

Where she _hoped_ she was. Because if she was somehow in Thay, of all places…

The wizardess paused, glancing up and meeting her eyes as if in surprise at the Doomguide’s revelation. “I am that and more. But I’m not a threat. Not to you, at least. Please, disregard whatever rumors you have heard regarding the Red Wizards. I am here to assist you, and I will do just that.” Safiya then shook her head, her brow furrowing deeply in frustration as she had to adjust the angle of the bandage to cover more of the wound. “Whoever did this was hopeless… I’ve seen better work on golems.”

When the Red Wizard finally finished with her, she took Rhaine firmly under the arms, slowly pulling the Doomguide to her feet. “There. The binding spell is wearing off. Your arms and legs will be stiff, but you’ll be able to walk.”

Rhaine rubbed her limbs, wincing at the pain that followed, and Safiya gestured to the pile of metal around her. “I’m assuming all of this belongs to you? Do you need some assistance arming yourself?”

The Doomguide nodded. “I would appreciate that, yes.”

After helping Rhaine into her clothes and arming vest, the wizardess wordlessly began picking up armor pieces and strapping them to the Doomguide with a sort of precision that seemed slightly strange for someone of her vocation. After a few moments, the priestess’s head seemed to clear a bit more, and she asked with a note of worry in her voice. “So… where exactly am I?”

“You’re in a barrow deep beneath the soil of Rashemen,” Safiya replied matter-of-factly, securing a buckle on one of Rhaine’s spaulders. “The locals say powerful spirits dwell here… hostile to those trying to enter, _and_ those trying to leave.”

The Doomguide reeled as though struck, her jaw dropping. Rashemen? How in the Nine Hells had she gotten to _Rashemen_? That was all the way on the other side of the world – thousands of leagues to the east of the Sword Coast. It was a journey that would normally take months on foot or horseback.

It wasn’t Thay, no, but it was close enough. And it more than explained the Red Wizard’s presence there, even if Rashemen _was_ a rival nation.

She swallowed thickly. “Who did this? Who took the shard?”

“Shard? I was told to find you, and that you would be injured, but nothing about a shard,” Safiya replied, her brow furrowing again as she fastened Rhaine’s cuirass together. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. If someone trapped you here, cut you _open_ , then surely you would know…”

She trailed as she read the Doomguide’s expression. “But you _don’t_ know, do you? I can understand your frustration – it must be very disorienting. I don’t know how you got here or why you were cut open like this, but I’ll take you to someone who might. I’ll take you to her and make sure she gives us both some answers. But that’s _after_ we get out. For the moment, haste is all that matters. We must leave before the spirits awaken.”

Biting back the lingering pain that arose from the movement, Rhaine strapped _Touch of Death_ to her side and lashed her helm next to it, frowning as she felt oddly naked without the Sword of Gith opposite them. She needed to find out where it went, why someone would cut the shard from her chest, and why she had been deposited in Rashemen of all places. For now, though, she would simply have to trust in Safiya, her sole savior, who seemed quite insistent that they focus on leaving this barrow as soon as possible. The wizard appeared to be honest enough, even if her arrival was rather… _convenient_ ; Red Wizards were nothing if not cunning. She would have to ask her about this whole situation when they had more time.

At last, the Doomguide finally nodded, trying to ignore the persistent throbbing of her chest where the ointment was still at work. “All right. Lead the way.”

As they moved to leave the dais, however, something immediately arrested her attention. She noticed that the rock face upon which she had been bound was surrounded by small pillars, runed just like the walls. One of these seemed to pull at her, and she stepped closer, squinting at it.

“Those were part of the binding spell that held you,” Safiya commented. “But I’ve dispelled their power.”

Not knowing what compelled her to do so, Rhaine reached a hand towards the column, her fingers lightly brushing the yet-glowing runes. The presence within her stirred in response – _seethed_ beneath her flesh. Her vision swam dizzyingly, and she was overwhelmed by a series of visions, flashing so quickly before her eyes that she could barely make them out. She saw a golden-skinned woman, smiling at her with eyes full of love. She saw a small boy running behind her, laughing in her wake. And she saw a wall… a living, screaming wall that seemed so familiar…

“Rhaine!”

Safiya’s voice broke her out of her trance. The Red Wizard looked at her with concern in her gaze. “Are you all right?”

“I… think so,” the Doomguide replied, her mind running through the scenes again. “I saw… a woman, and a boy, and a wall of screaming souls…”

“They’re dreams,” Safiya observed, her face clouded with thought, “or memories. Maybe from within, maybe from without. The Rashemi say that these runes can trap dreams… or set them loose. But come, we must not linger anymore. We’ve been here too long as it is.”

As Safiya turned away, then, Rhaine noticed a dark creature that looked a bit like a bat hovering over the wizardess’s shoulder. It tapped her on the arm to get her attention and spoke with a high-pitched, raspy voice, “Mistress, I heard something moving in the caverns ahead… do you think it is Ipsit and Sefi?”

“No, it couldn’t be,” Safiya answered quietly. “I sent them ahead to seek out Lienna shortly after we left mother’s chambers… they couldn’t be back from the city so soon.”

“Your friend has excellent senses. I heard nothing,” Rhaine remarked.

Safiya’s brow furrowed. “Neither did I. The barrow was empty when I entered and made my way to you. By the way… Rhaine, meet Kaji. Kaji, meet Rhaine.”

“Is he your familiar?” the Doomguide inquired. “He seems very intelligent.”

At that, Safiya smiled proudly. “Yes, he is. Kaji is a homunculus, a creature formed of twigs and clay. I gave him life… even taught him to speak. His diction is a little off, if a bit endearing. He has been, perhaps, a more faithful comrade than most humans. When you create your friends from nothing, you know you can trust them.”

Rhaine’s brow rose. “Your skills are impressive.”

The wizardess’s blush was visible even in the darkness of the cave. “Well, thank you. I’d love to talk more about my creations, but we really do need to keep moving.”

With that, they continued into the tunnels ahead, the dirt crunching softly with every step. The passageways were like the corridors of Merdelain – narrow with low ceilings. For the longest time, the place seemed unnaturally quiet and still, like a graveyard at dawn… until the ground trembled beneath their feet, and loud noises could be heard echoing in the far caverns ahead.

“So much for going unnoticed,” Safiya hissed. “The earth spirits wake! Ready yourself for combat. I hope that blade of yours is enchanted. Ordinary weapons will do little to harm them.”

Rhaine drew _Touch of Death_ , the sword unusually heavy in her hand. She wasn’t precisely in any condition to fight in melee, and she feared doing so would worsen her wound despite the ointment the Red Wizard had applied. “It is, trust me.”

They continued on, moving upwards at a rapid pace before entering another chamber. This one was larger than the previous, the cave floor littered with bones of countless animals that had died there. At the center of this room stood a large glowing figure – what appeared to be the spirit of a dire wolf, flanked by two lesser wolf spirits. The coat of the larger of the spirits was strangely colorful in appearance, marked with shimmering runes of blue, violet, and pink. The beast growled threateningly at their approach, golden eyes flashing, and Rhaine paused, uncertain of how to proceed. She had heard of spirits like this, but she had never before seen them, as they only seemed prevalent in Rashemen itself.

“There you are, Red Wizard,” the leader wolf spoke, voice feminine in sound. “We caught your scent on the empty air and it shook us from our sleep. But you were alone when you went below.”

“Who are you? What is your name, spirit?” The Doomguide asked, curious as to how this ghost of an animal could speak to them in such a manner.

“My name,” the wolf hesitated, as if thinking. “It was Nakata. Memories flow together in this place, and it is difficult to tell which are your own. My howls led an army of beasts across the groaning ice of Lake Tirulag. There, I died – struck down by a devourer of souls… a monster who wore the skin of a man.

“Now tell me _your_ name, mortal. Or we’ll tear out your throat and pry it from your ghost. Die in these caverns and you’ll find no easy road to your realm of the dead.”

“I am Rhaine Alcinea,” the Doomguide replied carefully, wondering at the spirit’s threat. “I did not mean to trespass here. I was trapped in the chamber beneath us against my will, and I have no knowledge of how I got there.”

“Something was trapped in the Cavern of Runes,” Nakata growled. “A poison at the heart of our dreams, swallowing memories and names. Anything that emerges from _there_ cannot be allowed to walk free. Those were the words of our god, before he sank into slumber.”

“What god? May I petition him regarding this matter?” Rhaine inquired, wondering just _which_ god was the lord of animal spirits in Rashemen…

“The bear god who dwells in the chambers above… but you will _never_ reach him,” the wolf answered shortly.

The Doomguide held up her free hand. “I assure you, I don’t mean you, or any spirit in this barrow, harm.”

But Nakata suddenly growled again, louder, eyeing her with a suspicious gaze as she crouched closer to the floor. “ _Hnnnh_ … what is that scent? Blood… a wound that should have been mortal but was not. No, something deeper… vile and… _familiar_. Why do I remember…?”

At once, Rhaine doubled over in a surge of pain… the _presence_ within her twisting and writhing more violently now, as if driving towards the surface of her skin with relentless force. The pain intensified until she was groaning uncontrollably in sheer agony, clutching at her torso. Her vision went scarlet around the edges; she could see Safiya seize her by the shoulders and call her name, but she could neither feel the wizardess’s touch nor hear her voice. The groan rose to an animalistic scream – Rhaine felt as if her flesh would rip from her body in shreds of bloody meat, the _hunger_ exploding from inside of her.

Safiya jumped backwards as there was an abrupt flash of light, brilliantly white. It lashed from Rhaine’s body at the wolf spirit, wrapping around the beast in scarlet tendrils and consuming it utterly in a vibrant burst of energy. The accompanying spirits whimpered as they immediately turned tail and ran deeper into the caverns, scrambling to escape as fast as possible.

And then, it was over as quickly as it had begun. Rhaine’s hearing came rushing back into her ears and her vision returned to normal, as if nothing at all had happened. She straightened slowly, panting as if in exertion, exchanging looks of concern with Safiya. Her eyes were wide as she felt her limbs trembling uncontrollably… more from the rush of power or the fear that had overtaken her, she didn’t know.

_What in the Hells…_

“That wasn’t a spell,” the wizardess murmured, a note of awe to her voice as she stared at Rhaine, “or a divine invocation. How did you _do_ that?”

“I don’t know,” the Doomguide replied, breath shaky as she tremors continued to wrack her. “It was like hunger… something that welled up inside of me. I couldn’t stop it, it just… _happened_ , and I…”

“Your wounds,” Safiya drew nearer, looking over her face. “They’re _healed_. Whatever you did, you destroyed that spirit, too.”

Rhaine glanced to where Nakata had stood just moments before, a beautiful and yet fearsome spirit animal that had been extinguished like a light in the space of a second. She felt her strength had returned, and her pain had vanished entirely. Her mind had also cleared, the fog lifted from it. She felt completely rejuvenated, and the alien hunger was now absent.

But that did nothing to ease her anxiety.

What had she done and _how_ had she done it? Without bidding herself to do so? She did not recall being able to attack like this before…

“Nevermind,” Safiya said finally, interrupting her thoughts. “We need to keep moving and leave this place. Let’s go.”

\------------------------------------------------------

They continued on through the caverns, the spirits of the barrow now openly hostile to them. They fell quickly to Rhaine’s sword and Safiya’s enchanted staff, but with every one that neared them, the _presence_ stirred again… not much, but enough to nauseate the Doomguide with its restless movement. After what seemed like hours of navigating through the earthen barrow, roots at last became visible, hanging loosely from the ceiling of the cavern.

They were actually making rather good time, though, when Safiya abruptly halted mid-stride, putting her fingers to her temples and wincing. “Stop… no, leave me alone! Not here and not now!”

Rhaine’s brow furrowed and she approached the Red Wizard cautiously. “Are you all right?”

Safiya shook her head fiercely. “I… yes, I’m fine, thank you. Look, the tunnel is angling upwards – we’re nearing the entrance,” she added, pointing ahead of them. “I passed a large pile of runed bones atop a burial mound in the first chamber. Just like that wolf said, the Rashemi believe that a god dwells here – an angry bear god who rules this barrow. Their tales are imaginative, but always true in part. Be on your guard.”

The Doomguide could tell that Safiya was _not_ fine, but she kept her silence on the matter, knowing she would not appreciate prying if she were in her shoes. Still, as Rhaine followed the Red Wizard, she watched her intently. Perhaps she would ask her about it again when the situation wasn’t quite so urgent, along with several other things that made little sense to her as of now…

The floor continued to incline as they made their way through more winding corridors, until at last they reached what looked to be an entrance chamber, supported by wooden pillars carved masterfully into ursine likenesses. Lying on its belly just in front of an elevated bear skeleton was a spirit much like Nakata in appearance. This time, however, it was a glowing male bear, long and flowing fur of red and orange fading to white along his back and head. His eyes, too, shone golden in the darkness.

The bear stood as he saw the two women approach what was obviously his burial mound. His eyes flashed, and he bared his long, ivory fangs. “What stirs the air and smells so foul? Go back, and die in the silence and the dark. I am tired and ill of temper.”

Rhaine raised an eyebrow. “And who are you to demand such?”

“I am Okku, King of Bears,” he rumbled lowly. “In life, I ruled the land above… beasts, fish, and fowl. In death, I guard this barrow – I sleep, and I dream of the moon, wind, and sky. And _you_ , devourer of Nakata, I know what you are. I smell the hunger that awakes within you.”

Rhaine’s insides twisted in response as he said this. It was then that Safiya sidestepped in front of her, almost protectively. “I don’t care _what_ you smell. You will _not_ have her.”

“What do you care, Thayan?” Okku growled. “I know your kind… you love yourselves above all else.”

“You don’t know _me_ ,” the Red Wizard retorted sharply, “but I know _your_ kind. I know that your present state, for all its… _color_ … is but a shadow of your true self. And I’ve shaped and bound _far_ greater things than you.”

“And _I_ smell a wild storm in you, Thayan,” Okku replied darkly. “Does your ally know what secrets you hide? Grief and confusion beyond measure… and something more…”

But then, suddenly, he shook his head and reared back on his hind legs. “Enough words. By the oath I swore, _neither_ of you will leave my den!”

The battle that ensued was a terrible one. Okku called several other bear spirits to his side during the fight, all of them towering over the two women. Rhaine was forced to stay on the defensive, casting spells more often than fighting in melee, despite her renewed strength. The spirits’ teeth and claws, however ethereal, tore at her armor, but to no avail… she thanked the gods it was not simple steel anymore. Safiya had enveloped herself in illusionary enchantments, making her own form harder to strike.

Finally, between the varied arcane and divine spells of the pair, the spirits dissipated, but the bear’s bones still glowed with a pale blue light, even after his dispersal. A faint hum lingered in the air, as if something were recharging…

“I think we drove him off,” Safiya panted. “Come on, let’s get out of here while we still can!”

And so, Rhaine wordlessly followed the wizardess at a jog… out of the darkness of the barrow and into the strange and wild land of Rashemen.


	20. Foreigner

They had been walking southwards from the barrow for some time. Thankfully, the spirits did not see fit to follow them, and so it was a relatively peaceful journey, allowing Rhaine some time to recover mentally as well as physically. She found her eyes tracing her environs as they went, studying her new surroundings. The land was hilly, dotted with sparse trees here and there, but mostly covered by golden grassland. The day was clear and bright, thankfully, not too warm and not too cold, and in a few hours it would be dusk. The only other sounds besides that of their boots crunching along the dirt road were the constant hum of insects and the occasional chirp of a bird.

Safiya said nothing at all for the most part, except for exchanging a few soft words with Kaji now and again. It was just as well for Rhaine; she was entirely immersed in her own thoughts, dark as they were. It disturbed her greatly that she could not remember what had happened before she found herself in the barrow. She could see the faces of her friends and companions in her mind’s eye, but any time she tried to focus upon them, they slipped from her grasp like water through her fingers. But even more disturbing was this newfound power she seemed to have, coupled with a dark _presence_ – a lingering, almost ravening sensation that lurked in both her mind and body, having yet to recede entirely. It worried her that she seemingly could not control it; that it seemed to act of its own accord, and that it had simply _decided_ to devour that wolf spirit without her bidding it to, controlling her like a puppet.

Had she somehow been possessed? Gods forbid it…

And on top of it all was the pervading feeling of emptiness in her soul. The Doomguide no longer felt the warmth of divine energy there – that font of power she always tapped into to cast her spells, almost without thinking. True, she could still cast them, thus far, without complications. But for some odd reason, she could no longer feel their actual source. Even more disconcerting was the distinct lifelessness of her holy symbol. Under normal circumstances, it would pulse slightly with warmth when held, as if to acknowledge her touch. Now, it remained a cold and unresponsive piece of jewelry.

After a while, Safiya hung back a little to walk beside her, gesturing to the city walls that were coming into view ahead of them. “Before us stand the gates of Mulsantir.” After a moment, then, she stopped and placed a hand on Rhaine’s shoulder in a comforting manner. “You’ve been eviscerated, paralyzed, assaulted by spirits, and subjected to countless leagues of walking. How are you feeling?”

Rhaine shook her head, her gaze flicking over Safiya’s shoulder. “Strangely, despite the rude awakening and raging bear spirits, I’m well. And that worries me. I think it’s linked to this strange new… _power_ … I seem to have acquired.”

The Red Wizard’s brow furrowed. “Hmm. That is rather odd. In any case, I’ve brought you here to speak with Lienna. Hopefully, she’ll know what happened to you in the barrow and why.”

“Who _is_ this Lienna I keep hearing about?”

At that, Safiya shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never met her or even heard of her until I was tasked to bring you _to_ her. My mother instructed me to take you to her, and she said little else.”

“So, what does your mother have to do with all this?” the Doomguide asked, cocking her head.

Safiya sighed heavily. “My mother, Nefris, is the Headmistress of the Academy of Shapers and Binders in Thay. How she knew about you and your situation, she didn’t say – she is always very busy, with little time for explanations. Really, I’m just as much in the dark about all this as you are… which is why I’m going to have my fair share of questions for Lienna as well. Speaking of which, I sent a pair of servants ahead to find her, and they have yet to return.”

Rhaine looked around again, a gentle breeze ruffling her hair. “And what can you tell me about this country? Rashemen, I mean. I’ll admit, I know little about it other than what I’ve read in books, and that’s likely not enough to actually survive here, by any means.”

“Rashemen is a cold and unforgiving land that has forged a… well, amusingly enough… a cold and unforgiving people,” the wizardess replied with a smirk. “I’ve never been here before, to be honest. What little _I_ know stems from rumors about the barbarians of this nation and the masked Witches who rule them. But they have no love for my kind, _that_ I am sure of, and in Thay, the feeling is mutual.” She glanced over her shoulder at the road. “While we’re here, it is best I don’t show off my red robes. Give me a few moments to change my attire?”

Rhaine dipped her head. “Certainly.”

She then turned away from Safiya as the Red Wizard ducked behind a tree to give her all the privacy she needed. After a few moments, though, the Doomguide called back, “So, there seemed to be a time in the barrow when you heard voices, or something similar. If I may ask, did you really, or was it something else?”

Safiya paused her rustling behind her. “I… yes, I did. I just think I need to avoid spirit-infested barrows from now on. You should know as well as anyone that the chatter of the dead isn’t meant for mortal ears.”

Unconvinced, Rhaine felt her brow furrow. “Are you sure there’s nothing more to it than that?”

“Nothing more to it? Just some spirits having fun at the expense of the living, Rhaine. No need to interrogate me on the matter.”

Noting Safiya’s clipped tone, the Doomguide relented. “All right. You have my apologies. I was merely concerned that some force may yet linger to haunt you. I would hate for the barrow to have affected you a seriously as it apparently has affected me.”

“Then I thank you for your concern, but I assure you it is unnecessary.”

A few seconds later, Safiya finally reappeared at Rhaine’s side, now garbed in a dark green robe with its hood pulled up to hide the tattoo on her head. “There. Kaji, where are…? Oh, there you are.”

While his mistress had been changing her robes, the little homunculus had flown over to a nearby bush to play with a butterfly and was just returning to them. Out in the daylight, the Doomguide could see that he had a little head, body, arms and legs, hands and feet. But his most prominent features were two bat-like wings. A pair of beady black eyes was also deeply set into his round face. He was almost cute.

Rhaine smiled at him as he neared again. “Kaji.”

“What?” His voice was high and slightly raspy. He cocked his little head at her inquisitively as she spoke his name.

“Well,” she glanced between him and Safiya, “what do _you_ do?”

He hesitated. “I… I can do _lots_ of things! Let’s see, um… I can spring locks! That’s useful, right?”

The Doomguide grinned, stifling a chuckle. “Sure, that’s useful.”

Safiya beamed, smiling warmly at her crafted familiar. “He’s a little rough around the edges, but I think he’s rather useful to have around, too.”

Kaji did a little backflip mid-air. “Really? _Great!_ If you ever need my help, just ask!”

Still rather amused by the chatty little thing, Rhaine continued, “And what’s your opinion about all this? The barrow? Rashemen?”

He bobbed up and down. “That barrow really creeped me out. But at least we’re out of the Acad-mee, where me and Mistress live. The golems there don’t like me, since I keep stealing stuff they’re s’posed to guard.”

At that Rhaine put her hands on her hips in an exaggerated manner, glancing to Safiya again, who had her lips pressed together to keep from laughing aloud. “Didn’t anyone tell you that stealing is wrong?”

The homunculus crossed his tiny arms. “I don’t steal anything important. I mean, if it were important, it would have _two_ locks on it.”

Both Doomguide and Red Wizard finally burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer. Thankfully, Kaji himself was completely oblivious to the reason why and merely shrugged as the two women struggled to recover. Rhaine in particular felt better than she had since before her appearance in this faraway land, and she was thankful for the precious humor such a creature could innocently provide – it almost made her forget her growing troubles. Indeed, Kaji was rather endearing, just as Safiya had described. His speech pattern was adorable, and she found herself eager to test his skills.

“You speak rather well, Kaji,” she managed at last, dipping her head respectfully to the little homunculus. “Can you say something for me?”

“Sure! Mistress teaches me new words all the time! Like, hum-uncle-eye!”

Rhaine thought for a moment. “‘Chocolate’?”

“Choc-o-lot!”

“All right, how about ‘eldritch’?”

“El-der-itch!”

“And ‘explosion’?”

“Ex-pull-ocean!”

She grinned widely. “Try ‘thaumaturgy’.”

At this, Kaji finally hesitated. “Tom-err, tom-terr…” His voice faded as he couldn’t form the syllables properly, and he began muttering to himself.

Safiya whispered behind her hand, “He’ll ponder that word all day unless I stop him.” Then, raising her voice to an authoritative tone, she added, “Kaji, we’ll do words later. Let’s go.”

“Thimergy… thimble… yes, Mistress.”

\------------------------------------------------------

With that, Safiya continued walking down the road towards Mulsantir’s massive gates. Rhaine saw that the fortifications were rather impressive, even if a bit crude. From what she had read, Rashemen was constantly at odds with its southern neighbor, Thay, making adequate defenses a requirement. But despite the fact that Rashemen was smaller and less populated than its rival, it had never yet fallen to the Red Wizards’ magic. Legend had it that the Wychlaran – the ruling masked witch-women – had power to rival the Thayan zulkirs... the Red Wizards’ mighty arcane leaders.

Inside the gates, then, the city was a bustle of activity. Though Neverwinter had a similar drone of noise and crowded thoroughfares, it was nothing compared to the sight and sounds before her. Merchants hawked their wares in open stalls before a gigantic circular theatre house that served as the main attraction. Food was being cooked in the streets and handed out to passersby in exchange for coppers. Vendors pressed themselves amongst the throng, flashing exotic jewels and baubles in hopes of getting someone’s attention… and thus their coin. There were also many faces of various races and lands milling about the streets, and so perhaps she would not look too out of place herself. After all, the nation of Aglarond was also nearby, with the most concentration of half-elves out of all the countries in Faerûn, or so she’d heard.

And through them all, unfazed by the close proximity of the crowd, the tall, fur-clad barbarians of the city walked with confident strides, their sharp eyes scanning frequently for pickpockets and thieves. There was no need for a formal city guard when the resident warriors enforced the law quite well themselves. No one would dare pick a fight with these six-foot-tall fighters; if the warriors did not beat their foolish challengers to death, then the unfortunate souls would surely suffer at the hands of the Wychlaran.

“There,” Safiya finally pointed past the Doomguide’s shoulder to the theatre. “That’s what the locals call ‘The Veil.’ Lienna is the mistress of this theatre house. She should be inside.”

Rhaine, eager for answers, nodded and strode ahead of the wizard, tentatively entering the massive theatre.

\------------------------------------------------------

When Rhaine’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting within, she could tell right away that something was terribly wrong. The actors and actresses huddled against the far wall, guarded by tall, furry, hyena-headed creatures armed with halberds; the Doomguide recognized them from texts as gnolls, though she had never seen them in person before now. On the floor in front of the stage lay the mutilated bodies of two homunculi like Kaji. On the stage itself stood another Red Wizard, whirling as he saw the pair enter the theatre house.

“Safiya? The daughter of Nefris? _Here_?” he asked incredulously, evidently seeing right past Safiya’s disguise. “I should have known those homunculi were your handiwork.”

“What did you do to Ipsit and Sefi?” Safiya demanded, hazel eyes flashing as she pushed forward.

“Oh, the gnolls found them poking around the theatre. They toyed with them for a bit before dismembering them… your worthless creations are no more.”

“Who are you and why are you here?” Rhaine asked, hand moving to the hilt of her sword. Something about his attitude and his aura was entirely off-putting, and it was evident the gnolls under his command were holding the actors hostage for him.

“He’s one of the necromancy students,” Safiya supplied, distaste evident on her face. “This is probably all part of a _ridiculous_ scheme to overthrow my mother.”

Her fellow wizard smirked. “You know, as much as I would like, I really can’t let you two walk free from this place. You are just as likely to run to the Witches as keep your silence. And besides… Araman would be quite displeased if I let Nefris’s daughter escape our grasp a second time.”

He snarled a few unintelligible words, and the gnolls pounced. Safiya engaged her fellow wizard in a powerful spellslinging battle whilst Rhaine took care of the vicious beasts. The six gnolls were formidable and highly intelligent, moving with the precision of trained soldiers. Their armor was well-crafted and each wielded pristine weapons. In an attempt to keep them at a fair distance, Rhaine cast a _Blade Barrier_ across the aisle of the theatre, following up with a _Hammer of the Gods_ to daze them. A few _Flame Strikes_ later, the gnolls were a pile of smoking fur, and all that remained was the wizard.

The necromancer, then, sensing he was losing this fight, summoned a Pit Fiend to keep Rhaine occupied again, commanding it against her. The Doomguide was impressed… she had heard of the arcane might of the Red Wizards, but she had never seen it personally before now. And what she had witnessed Safiya cast in the spirit barrow was apparently only a taste of what the wizardess could really do. She had surrounded herself with multiple layers of shielding spells, so much that she seemed encased in a solid, shimmering orb of light. She had also turned her skin to stone, much like Sand used to, and was now shouting various offensive incantations as quickly as her lips would allow. Unfortunately, her opponent had done the same, and neither was gaining any ground on the other, smoke, sparks, and flashes of errant magic filling the air.

Rhaine did not waste her offensive energy on the summoned demon. Rather, she simply banished it with a word, summarily dismissing it to the lower planes in a burst of power. This act was enough to surprise the necromancer and take his attention away from Safiya again. He faltered for a split second, and that was all the two women needed. Both cast their own dispelling magics simultaneously, very suddenly stripping the wizard of most of his magical defenses. A quickened _Lightning Bolt_ from Safiya was all that was required to end the miserable wretch’s life.

After a few moments of deafening silence, one of the actresses – a dwarven woman – dashed up to Rhaine. “A more timely entrance I’ve never seen, milady, in all my years of theatre! But there are more of them, and they’re after Lienna!”

The Doomguide nodded grimly. “Get yourselves to safety. I’ll take care of them.”

“Wait! Lienna is no simple theatre matron. She has fled through a portal… to a _reflection_ of The Veil – it will throw the wizards off, but not for long. Here, take this stone,” she pressed a small black object into Rhaine’s gloved palm, “It will allow you to open the portal as she can. Go to her bedroom at the back of the theatre, stand near the far corner, and the stone will bridge the gap between worlds. Or at least, that’s what she told me. Now go, quickly!”

The dwarf then began ushering the other actors and actresses out of the theatre house while Rhaine and Safiya headed backstage to pursue Lienna. They had barely passed the doorway, however, when Safiya suddenly halted mid-stride, clutching at her head again.

“I… no! I told them not now!”

Rhaine whirled around. “Safiya? Are you all right? What’s going on?”

“My ears… they’re ringing and there’s this… burning… no! Stop! Don’t-”

The Doomguide backed up a step, brow furrowed. “Don’t what?”

Safiya glanced up and slowly removed her hands from her head. “I… I thought you were going to try and help me. It’s… it’s over now. Let’s just go.”

Rhaine paused a moment, but then nodded. “Very well. If you don’t wish to talk about it, I understand.”

At that, Safiya sighed heavily. “Look, I’ve heard voices all my life… all of them very faint and similar to my own. Most of it is just snippets of faded conversation, but occasionally, I _do_ hear words. However, this is only the second time they’ve brought pain. The first was in the barrow. At the time, I thought it was just the malevolent spirits. Now?” She shrugged, shaking her head. “I’m not so sure. But come, we still need to find Lienna… if there are more Red Wizards around here, she is in grave danger.”

They continued on, then, searching the back rooms of the theatre. It did not take them long to find the bedroom the dwarven woman had mentioned. And, just as she had suggested, when Rhaine approached the far corner of it, an oval-shaped portal materialized from thin air, familiar black swirls of smoke spilling from it.

“My, look at this,” Safiya remarked, seemingly awed.

Rhaine’s brow furrowed deeply. “It’s a portal to the Plane of Shadow. I’ve had enough encounters with shadows for several lifetimes.”

“You’re right,” the wizardess replied with a hint of surprise in her voice. “You have an eye for the arcane. Have you been to the Plane of Shadow?”

Rhaine shook her head. “No. I’ve merely dealt with its denizens on the Prime.”

“Right,” Safiya nodded. “It should lead to a mirrored reality, then, similar to our own. If we keep our wits about us, it shouldn’t present too many problems for us.”

Rhaine lifted a hand, tentatively reaching through the black portal’s surface. It shimmered like the surface of still water as her fingers disappeared beyond. Wiggling them cautiously and still feeling them intact on the other side, the Doomguide then took a deep breath and walked forward into the darkness.

\------------------------------------------------------

When the two emerged again, they found themselves in a copy of Lienna’s bedroom, only this time it was furnished as a library. The whole world around them was completely devoid of color – just black, white, and shades of grey, with black predominating over everything else. They cautiously made their way forward, entering the backstage area of The Veil’s dark shadow-twin. There, in the middle of the room, was a crude operating table, shackles at its ends to hold hands and feet fast. Blood stained the floor in large swaths, the various tools upon the table’s surface also encrusted with it.

The _presence_ within Rhaine _twisted_ , seemingly where the shard once lay…

The Doomguide found herself drawn to the table like a lodestone, and she carefully brushed a hand across its surface. Her vision suddenly flashed into another time as memories erupted to the surface of her mind… memories that she hadn’t even known existed until now.

She had _lain_ on that table. She could feel her wrists and ankles being strapped down, so tight that they burned… _bled_ as she struggled vainly against them. She could make out several dark shapes, and as she focused, she saw two women standing over her. They were almost identical in appearance, only one wore red robes and the other wore white. There were more dark shapes behind the two, bestial in form, but Rhaine could not see them clearly…

…the women ran cold fingers down her sternum, began cutting open her chest with a silver knife, and all she could do was watch and scream… the twisting sensation began to sear her with an unbearable intensity… the women’s arms were covered to the elbows in her blood. And when they finally removed their hands, the red woman’s held a glittering shard. Her eyes met Rhaine’s and she whispered, “For love,” before the white woman set about stitching the wound…

…and then, the bestial forms came forth, lifting her and carrying her through the darkness and into a chamber lit by glowing runes, where a foul _presence_ lay in wait…

“Rhaine!”

She was once again snapped into the present by Safiya’s voice. The Doomguide stared at her companion with wide eyes and abruptly gasped for breath, realizing she had been holding it the entire time.

“Are you all right?” the wizardess asked, her own stare unblinking as she met Rhaine’s gaze.

“I… I think so,” Rhaine murmured, swallowing hard as she glanced back at the stained table. “I saw myself here… saw people cutting the shard out of me…”

“They’re memories,” Safiya answered quietly, the gears obviously turning behind her eyes even in this dull plane of existence. “Not surprising. Places like the Shadow Plane cause them to come to the surface if they’ve been repressed.”

Rhaine nodded, pressing her lips together and silently continuing on towards the door to the stage, wanting nothing more than to leave _that_ particular room far behind her. Besides, they had to find Lienna and quickly… that was more important than anything else at the moment.

She could speculate on who had brought her here to be mutilated, and why they had done it, later.

\------------------------------------------------------

To Rhaine’s great displeasure, another Red Wizard stood in the shadow audience pit, leaning over what appeared to be the remnants of a charred humanoid skeleton. He looked up, though, when he heard the two women’s footsteps across the wooden stage.

“Safiya? What are you doing here?”

“I thought I smelled incompetence,” the wizardess remarked dryly.

“You two know each other, I assume?” Rhaine inquired, looking askance at Safiya.

She gestured to the Red Wizard. “This is Khai Khmun, one of the most worthless piles of sputum ever to wear the red robes of Thay.”

“A rival of yours from the Academy?” the Doomguide asked, glancing between them.

“Khai is a sniveling sycophant,” Safiya snorted with an eye roll before glaring darkly at Khai. “My only rivals are mages of worth. He also happens to be a junior instructor at my Academy… I can only wonder why he’s strayed so far from his mentor’s leash.”

“All that’s changing,” Khai replied, crossing his arms with a sly grin that made Rhaine’s skin crawl. “Araman sent me here to deal with Lienna, but she destroyed herself in a blaze of fire… must’ve known she couldn’t best me. With her dead, I’ve earned a promotion.”

“Just who is this Araman I keep hearing about, and why did he want Lienna dead?” Rhaine hefted _Touch of Death_ in her hand. It seemed this apparent rivalry between Red Wizards had somehow caught this theatre matron in the middle and was thus going to prevent her from finding the answers she sought.

“He’s the new Headmaster of the Academy of Shapers and Binders now that the former headmistress has… _retired_ ,” Khai smirked. But then, his eyes suddenly grew as wide as saucers and he jumped backwards, as if he had just seen her there. “Wait. _You_! Araman warned me of you! Safiya, why would you travel with this… _thing_?”

The Doomguide’s brow rose, and she shared glances with Safiya. “Actually, my name is Rhaine.”

“I want no trouble from you… stand aside!” Khai began backing away, evidently more than a little frightened of her. “My quarrel is with Safiya. I doubt she’ll put up as much of a fight as Lienna… or her mother.”

“My… _mother_?” Safiya’s mouth dropped open at that, her eyes wide in disbelief. “Khai Khmun, you’d best be mocking me! If you so much as raised a hand against my mother, I will extract a _thousand_ screams from your wretched hide!”

“Oh, she never saw it coming,” Khai taunted. “She used every last cantrip she knew… but her loyal allies – her daughter, even – never arrived to save her.”

“And to think that you once claimed to have cared for me!” Safiya snapped through gritted teeth, electricity sparking from her staff.

But Khai only grinned wickedly. “Lienna was wise to destroy herself, rather than face me. I doubt you have the sense to make your deaths less painful and do the same. No matter, let’s finish this!”

The wizard proved to be as difficult an opponent as his companion back on the Prime, and he had backup lurking in the shadows. But with Rhaine’s assistance, Safiya quickly finished the two casters. Rhaine’s armor had been scorched from the spells slung her way, and Safiya had suffered a few slashes from Khai’s summoned sword, but they both managed to walk away relatively unharmed. Rhaine whispered a few small healing spells to patch up Safiya’s wounds before seeing to herself, just in case one of Khai’s spells had managed do damage beyond surface level that she hadn’t yet detected.

Afterwards, she knelt over both Lienna’s and the wizards’ remains, reciting the Passing with the intention of doing the same for their comrade back on the Prime when they returned. Foes or not, they still needed it; the energies of the Shadow Plane in particular made the risk of them turning to undead significantly great.

Safiya then looked down at Khai’s corpse, pushing it with her toe. “I always thought his ambition would get him killed. Though, I never thought it would be at my hands. Still, I don’t think he’ll be missed.”

Rhaine rose and placed a comforting hand on the wizardess’s shoulder. “Khai mentioned what happened to your mother. I am sorry for your loss.”

Safiya sighed heavily, closing her eyes. “I had hoped Khai was just bluffing, but… now I don’t think he was. I thank you for your condolences. Unfortunately, while my mother was respected, she was not loved by many.”

“If you wish to return home, I’ll understand,” the Doomguide added softly.

The Red Wizard shook her head, taking a slightly unsteady breath. “Whatever happened there is likely already long over. If I returned, I’d be killed on sight. Besides, my mother’s last orders were to look after you, and I’d like to honor them as long as I can… if you’ll have me, that is.”

Rhaine smiled warmly, dipping her head. “Of course. And I should be thanking your for your help. I wouldn’t have fared well without you. Here or at the barrow.”

Safiya returned her smile. “You’re not so bad yourself. And thank _you_ for standing by me. It is appreciated.”

It was then that the Doomguide turned and glanced down at Lienna’s scorched bones once more. “I wonder why this Araman wanted Lienna dead so badly… who is he, exactly?”

Safiya’s brow furrowed deeply. “A senior instructor at the Academy – a very quiet, but also very intelligent man. We only spoke on a few occasions. He mostly stayed holed up in the library. I did notice, though, that he has an astounding grasp of the magical arts.” She paused for a moment and frowned. “If he sent minions all the way to Rashemen to kill Lienna, she was no mere theatre matron. She likely had very important connections to my mother… so much so that Araman deemed Lienna a threat to his rebellion against her.”

“Hmm,” Rhaine’s face was grim. “Well, I think I’ve heard enough about him and his murdering cronies, for now. Shall we return to the Prime?”

“Indeed,” Safiya nodded. “There’s nothing left for us here. We probably should seek out the dwarf woman and the other actors. Lienna may have confided in one of them, and perhaps we can learn more second-hand.”

\------------------------------------------------------

They left the Shadow Veil and returned to the Prime, departing from the theatre the way they had entered. By this time, it was dark outside, the stars twinkling in the blue-black sky overhead. But the pair had not taken two steps from the theatre house before three flashes of light blinked before them, three masked women materializing in their path and halting them in their tracks.

“Keep your distance, Witches. I’ve studied your laws, and we’ve broken none,” Safiya warned firmly.

The middle Witch stepped forward, then, an old woman with silver hair in a long braid down her back. Like her companions, she wore a colorful dress in the native style and an elaborate mask – hers in the shape of an owl’s face. She peered at Safiya with deep brown eyes, speaking with a soft voice that was nonetheless strong, despite her advanced years. “You know our laws,” she said at length with a slow nod, cocking her head. “And I know _you_ , child, even if these others do not. You would be best served by keeping silent.”

“Look, Sheva!” the Witch on the right exclaimed as she pointed at Rhaine with a claw-like finger, her ebon mane blowing errantly in the soft night breeze. “The girl’s companion… it’s _that_ one who offends the land and draws an army to our gate!” Her voice was sharp and harsh, her black eyes narrowed behind her cat-faced mask.

At that, the elderly Witch turned to Rhaine, addressing her directly. “Speak your name, foreigner, and know you address the Wychlaran.”

The Doomguide stiffened, though ultimately opting for diplomacy over defensiveness, knowing the latter would get her nowhere. “I am Rhaine Alcinea. I came to your city looking for a woman named Lienna. Unfortunately, it appears I’ve come too late.”

The third Witch, a very young woman with sandy hair and an eagle mask, spun towards Sheva in obvious shock. “Then Magda spoke true? She said there were Thayans… that they came from the very shad-”

“Calm, Katya,” Sheva raised a weathered hand to silence the young witch. “You are a Witch now, not a farmgirl,” she reminded her. She then returned her attention to Rhaine. “You crossed spells with our mortal enemies, foreigner, and drove them from our midst. For that, much may be forgiven.”

“Forgiven?” Rhaine’s brow rose. “I have committed no crime of which I am aware.”

“That may be true,” Sheva answered with a dip of her head. “But the bear god has marched an army of spirits to our gates, and he roars for your blood. He claims that you have defiled his sacred den… _and_ unleashed an evil upon the world.”

“And the bear god does not lie,” the raven-haired Witch added. “I can _smell_ the wrongness on you, foreigner. It hangs on you like a corpse-shroud.”

“My business is not with the spirits, despite how much they apparently insist on it,” Rhaine interjected, choosing to ignore the insult thrown her way. “I need to speak with Magda. She may know more about what happened to Lienna, for whom I’ve been searching regarding important information.”

“How do we know you wouldn’t have slain Lienna yourself?” the dark Witch retorted skeptically. “How do we know you won’t do the same to Magda?”

“ _Hush_ , Kazimika,” Sheva finally snapped at her fellow Wychlaran, before addressing Rhaine once more. “Make your peace with the bear god, foreigner, and we will know you for a friend.”

There was a long pause, all five women standing in heavy silence. Rhaine looked from one Witch to the other. “And Magda…?”

“… will be kept safe,” Sheva assured. “From the spirit horde and from _you_ , if need be.”

The Doomguide sighed heavily, putting her head in her hand and rubbing at her temples. It seemed there was no way forward without dealing with the bear god again. “Very well. If you insist, I will face Okku in the morning.”

Sheva inclined her head. “No Witch may stand against the spirits of the land, but we will still honor the debt we owe you, for slaying the Red Wizards. Go to our prison on the north edge of town. Any convict willing to fight at your side will be granted a full pardon.”

Rhaine nodded shortly. “That is fair. Thank you.”

Then, Sheva stepped closer, placing her gnarled hands on the priestess’s shoulders and speaking in a quieter tone, as if for her ears only. “You know not what dreams lay behind steel and rune, foreigner… or what paths they might open to you. We will watch from our high place and will receive you again – if you return alive.”


	21. Seeking Soldiers

For a long moment after the Witches vanished, Rhaine simply stood there, blinking. She didn’t know whether to laugh, weep, or throw a fit in utter rage. Deep in her heart, despite the opportunity to explore a new land, all she wanted was to find a way back home. She didn’t even want to know about the Sword of Gith anymore; she didn’t need it any longer, after all. Whoever took the shard and sword from her could have them both, for all she cared. But now, Okku was bound and determined to kill her as soon as she set foot outside Mulsantir’s gates – had brought an apparent _army_ of his fellow spirits to ensure it happened – and there was no way out of the city without facing him.

From behind her, Safiya let out her breath in a hissing sigh. “Great.”

But then, out of the corner of her eye, Rhaine saw two figures tentatively approaching the pair of women. They were garbed in similar furs and leathers, though one was male and the other female. The Doomguide’s eyes widened in surprise when she saw that both were also winged; the male’s feathers cream-colored, and his companion’s a dusky charcoal. The male also wore an antlered helmet.

It took an embarrassingly-long minute before it dawned on her that they were half-celestials – mortals with the heritage of angels.

The male spoke first, his teeth startlingly white against his golden blonde beard. “Hello, friend. I’m sorry, but we couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with the Witches. We are willing to offer our aid to you against this spirit army, if you would be so kind as to aid us in return.”

“Forgive my brother’s manners,” the dark-winged woman added, jabbing her companion in the ribs with a sharp glare. “I am Susah the Crow, and this is Efrem the Stag. We are looking for our sister, Kaelyn the Dove.”

Rhaine raised an eyebrow. “You’re all named after animals?”

“We are,” Efrem affirmed with a grin and a nod, “and together, we are the Menagerie. Our sister has been missing from us for some time now, and we are concerned for her. Our hunt led us to Mulsantir, but we have since lost her scent.”

“We believe she may have come here in search of Myrkul’s Vault,” Susah continued, brushing her short black hair out of her eyes. “If she has found it here, then we cannot continue on, as it would be a violation of our faith.”

“And why is that, precisely? Who do you follow?” Rhaine inquired, cocking her head curiously. Many gods could consider entering one of Myrkul’s holy sites a violation of faith, including…

“Kelemvor, of course,” Efrem replied, as if it were obvious.

The Doomguide huffed out a sigh, nearing them so they could see the holy symbol shining about her neck, the gold glinting in the light of a nearby brazier. “So am I.”

The brother and sister exchanged looks that were mixed with both surprise and dismay. “Oh. Oh dear. That complicates things.”

At that, Rhaine’s brow furrowed. “Why is Kaelyn looking for Myrkul’s Vault? Is entering it not a violation for her as well?”

Efrem shook his head. “Our sister abandoned Kelemvor’s faith some time ago, in favor of that of Ilmater, the Suffering God. For this, she was exiled from our grandfather’s home on Mount Celestia.”

“As for _why_ she is looking for it,” Susah added, “I have a theory-”

It was then that Efrem clamped a hand over his sister’s mouth to silence her. “Let us not entertain this kind sister of the faith with _theories_. For that answer, she will have to ask Kaelyn herself. Besides, as a fellow Kelemvorite, she cannot help us.”

But then, as if on cue, an idea suddenly sprang into Rhaine’s head. It was risky, sure, but she was feeling oddly courageous now, as if she had absolutely nothing to lose. “Wait… isn’t Myrkul’s Vault filled with undead?”

Susah glanced at her brother nervously. “It… it is rumored, yes.”

“And aren’t we sworn to eradicate the undead, wherever they may be found?”

Efrem’s eyes widened as he began to comprehend what she was getting at. “Yes, but…”

“And do you believe your sister to be in mortal danger? Her life threatened by these undead.”

“Quite possibly…”

Rhaine nodded once. “Then it is settled. I will look for her. If Kelemvor objects to my presence in his predecessor’s Vault, then perhaps he will be equally appeased by the destruction of its foul denizens, should they cross my path. Myrkulites or no, undead may not be allowed to persist to threaten any mortal life.”

Susah bit her lip, as if slightly unconvinced. “You are brave, milady. Thank you for your help. We will not forget our promise to you.”

“Nay,” Efrem added with a shake of his head. “As soon as we see our sister safe, we will join you in your battle with the Bear King. May Kelemvor’s blessings go with you, Rhaine Alcinea. We shall pray for your swift success.”

\------------------------------------------------------

The two entered the common room of “The Sloop,” the local tavern. They had both decided to rent a room for the night before beginning their search for Kaelyn and their investigation of the city’s prison for potential recruits. The place was, quite possibly, the shoddiest inn Rhaine had ever seen in her life. The tables and stools were rickety, there were gaping holes in the ceiling, and the entire place smelled of stale beer, sweat, and mothballs. Perhaps the only good thing about it was that it was cheap. Ever since Rhaine had lost her pack, she only had a handful of gold coins in her belt pouch to her name… a handful that was diminishing rather rapidly.

Once it was purchased, Wizard and Doomguide skirted a group of drunken barbarians and entered their tiny room, locking the door behind them. It was then they spent a few moments simply staring at their meagre accommodations: two footlockers, two straw cots, no blankets, no chairs, and one cracked mirror to share between them. Both heaved a heavy sigh, Safiya dumping her satchel onto her cot while Rhaine unbuckled her belt and scabbard. Kaji alighted on one of the footlockers, folding his clay wings around himself not unlike a bat.

The Doomguide removed her gauntlets and set her helm on her own rotten chest, approaching the mirror. And what she glimpsed upon its surface caused her to gasp aloud.

“What?” Safiya asked, concern in her voice. “What is it?”

Rhaine gaped in horror at her reflection. Her once lively crimson hair was lank and dull. Lifeless. Her eyes were sunken, all the brightness in their irises gone. Her face was gaunt, her cheeks hollowed, its flesh unusually pale – almost cold-looking.

“Oh,” Safiya started. “Yes, _that_. You didn’t look like that right after the spirit barrow. But over the course of the day, you’ve been looking more and more… starved. Ill, even. You seemed fine other than your appearance, though, so I didn’t say anything. I… didn’t want you to panic.”

“What is happening to me?” she whispered, lightly touching her face as if she expected it to be some horrible mask and not her own visage she was looking at. Her fingers indeed brushed unnaturally cool skin, and she shuddered.

Safiya placed a hand on her shoulder. “I wish I knew. We’ll just have to wait until we can speak with Magda. I have a feeling it’s something Lienna could have answered.”

Rhaine whirled, rage bubbling over, and Safiya jerked her hand away. “Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? She’s _dead_ , and now I’ve got a _stlarning_ army of spirits that’s howling for my blood right outside those gates! The Witches won’t let me talk with the dwarf woman until I deal with them. But there’s no way I can face Okku alone while he has an endless supply of power at his back. So I have to go to a prison, and scrounge up _convicts,_ and then _violate my own god’s doctrine_ , just so I can stand a snowball’s chance in the Hells against a rampaging bear spirit!”

“Yes,” the Red Wizard nodded, unfazed by her rant, “and we’ll face him together. I made a promise to my mother to help you and protect you, and I will do just that.”

“Look, Safiya. I’m grateful for your continued assistance. I really am. I have said it before, and it is worth repeating: without you, I wouldn’t have made it out of that barrow alive. But you don’t _understand_ ,” Rhaine shook her head fiercely, raking claw-like hands violently through her hair as her voice wavered, “I feel like I’m _dying_. I feel _alone_. This… this isn’t me!” She pounded her armored chest. “I’m empty inside! It’s as if I’m a walking husk! I can’t remember my friends, I can’t remember what happened to me before the barrow… _there’s nothing there_! And every moment that passes it gets _worse_!”

She could no longer speak. Her throat felt as if someone were choking her, and her eyes filled with hot tears. Safiya looked at her with an expression of pity, and that made her even angrier. But the Red Wizard took her firmly by the shoulders and pushed her to a sitting position on her cot, reaching into her satchel and producing a spare robe. “Here. Get out of that armor and rest. We’ll take this one step at a time. I promise you, we _will_ drive off Okku, we _will_ talk to Magda, and we _will_ find out what’s wrong with you. And after that, we _will_ find a way to send you home. You have my word.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine awoke before Safiya, carefully getting up and arming herself with minimal noise so as not to disturb the Red Wizard. She was shocked to find that the scar upon her chest was completely gone – it was as if the wound had never even existed, much less been cut open again. Whatever she had done in the spirit barrow had not only destroyed Nakata, but also completely healed her of even her oldest injuries.

But at what cost?

She held her head, wincing. The Doomguide could practically _feel_ the army of spirits outside the gates, all enraged and ready to tear her to shreds. Whatever the thing was that lay within her twisted again, quite painfully this time. Suffice it to say that she didn’t feel like eating; she took a bit of water and only a few bites of some local fare from the innkeeper for her breakfast. It was a choice she’d likely regret later, but she didn’t have the stomach for more.

Safiya finally rose an hour or so after Rhaine, prepared to join her companion in a search for allies. The two meandered through the streets of Mulsantir side by side, then, finding that most of the Rashemi had locked themselves in their homes. Thus, it was unnervingly quiet compared to the day before, save for the howling of the spirits that came floating over the walls. Obviously, she would find little help amongst the superstitious natives.

But then, her heart skipped a beat as a familiar sight greeted her. On the hillside above the bazaar was a small stone temple, set half underground and ringed by a semicircular wall. And upon the façade above the doorway was the symbol of Kelemvor.

It was like a beacon of hope to her darkened heart.

Rhaine started, “Safiya, look! It’s a Temple to Kelemvor. Perhaps someone there will know what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh?” The Red Wizard glanced at the place and back to Rhaine. “Well, that’s… _something_ , I suppose. Go on in if you want, I’ll… I’ll just wait out here.” She offered a small smile.

The Doomguide’s brow furrowed. “Really? I’m sure you’d be wel-”

Safiya waved her hand. “Yes, go on. I… I’m not really one for religion, Rhaine. Let’s just keep it at that.”

Rhaine shrugged. “All right. Suit yourself. I’ll try to make it quick.”

With that, she turned from the wizard and approached the temple. The closer she came to it, the smaller it appeared – its only defining feature was the wall sculpture. She peered at it, wondering what exactly had been carved upon its surface until she realized it was images of tortured souls. Rhaine shook her head momentarily, not quite believing her eyes before a wave of realization hit her. It was a representation of the Wall of the Faithless – not exactly the most cheerful of subjects for a public monument.

Turning away from the wall, she continued on into the temple proper, descending a small flight of stairs. It was cooler underground, the lower temperature required for obvious reasons – reasons that were fulfilled by an underground floor below the temple back home in Waterdeep. As her eyes slowly adjusted from the bright Rashemi daylight, she looked around the space. The interior was even smaller than the exterior had been. The room ahead served as both the nave and the library, it seemed. Behind a door that lay directly across from her was the mortuary, and to her left were side rooms for both the resident priests and any guests, likely the infirm.

She continued further, her boots clacking on the engraved ceramic tiles. Looking up at the low ceiling, she saw that it was tiled as well, cleverly embossed to oppose the deep etchings on the floor. The architecture was supported with darkly-stained wooden beams, the color rich in the low candlelight. A small marble altar sat roughly in the center of the room, a small set of stairs leading up to it, and a large granite depiction of the skeletal hand and scales adorning the wall behind it.

It was a modest setup, compared to some others, but the soothing quiet was just the same. She let out a shuddering sigh, trying to absorb that peace into herself, but for some reason, the tranquility of this place did not calm her as it might have under other circumstances.

A movement to her right then caught her eye. There, standing in front of a pair of bookcases, was a young man garbed in an acolyte’s brown robe, flipping almost carelessly through a leather-bound tome. His sleeves and hood were a bit too big for him, and he constantly had to push them out of his way. He glanced up upon hearing Rhaine approach.

“Oh, hello there!” he greeted her warmly. “I’m Yusev… but I’m just an acolyte. You’ll want to speak with Brother Darovik. He’ll be out here shortly.”

“New to the Church, eh?” She grinned. “Welcome.”

He blushed a deep crimson, noticing her symbol. “Ah, thank you, sister. My parents just recently sent me off to learn the ways of a priest. I had been looking forward to it, but now,” he shook his head in dismay, “it’s all rather disappointing, really.”

She felt her brow furrow. “Disappointing? How so?”

Yusev sighed heavily, closing the book in his hands. “I had thought that Kelemvor would have been more like his predecessors regarding the use of necromancy – it is an art that I am utterly fascinated with, but I’ve found it is something that the Lord of the Dead frowns upon, while Myrkul and Jergal before him actually encouraged it. I don’t understand it. We humans are such frail creatures with an incredibly limited lifespan compared to so many others in the Realms. What is the harm in trying to prolong it, even by just a little bit?”

Rhaine took in a hissing breath, knowing she needed to set him straight and quickly. “Because while you’re searching for a way to extend your life, you’re wasting your precious time upon the Prime. Kelemvor teaches us to accept our allotted lifespan and live it to the fullest. Not only that, but in practicing necromancy you also dishonor those who have gone before you and defile their remains, disturbing their rest and creating foul perversions for your petty desires. Death is a natural part of life, part of a universal order. Tampering with this order has consequences, even if we mortals are not aware of them.”

Yusev’s face looked grim as he absorbed her words. “Well, now that you put it that way, it makes sense. But it also makes me wonder why I didn’t realize that before now… if I’ve even joined the right Church.”

“Don’t fast yourself over it,” the Doomguide sighed with a shake of her head, “we all learn at a different pace and from different methods.”

Yusev blushed again. “Thank you, sister. I understand.”

“About time someone got through to you, boy.”

Rhaine whirled around. There, leaning against a wooden support with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, was another priest. This man was far older than Yusev, his neatly trimmed beard a fading charcoal color. With his tanned complexion, he could easily pass as any of the peoples of the region: Rashemi, Aglarondan, or even Thayan. He peered at her underneath the shadows of his cowl with eyes the color of steel, his voice tinged with a heavier accent than that of Sheva or her sisters, “Welcome to the house of Kelemvor, sister. It is more humble than most, but no poorer in our lord’s sight. I am Brother Darovik. How may I serve?”

Rhaine clasped her hand to her chest in the formal greeting. “Well met to you, brother. I am Rhaine Alcinea of Waterdeep. It seems I suffer from a sickness of some sort, and I was wondering if you could help me discern what it is. It is like nothing I have ever encountered before.”

Darovik’s brow furrowed. “Well then, come here and let me have a look at you.”

She stepped closer, and he cast a simple charm for detecting illnesses, looking over her carefully with a sharp gaze. After a few moments, he frowned. He then gently took her face in one weathered hand and tilted it first one direction and then the other. After another moment, he dropped his hand and sighed.

“I do not know what affliction has beset you, child. You appear to have some combination of disease and malnutrition, but my magics detect nothing.” He shook his head in apology. “I am sorry. Perhaps only the blessings of Kelemvor may aid you in this.”

Rhaine’s countenance fell, and with it her heart. “I feared you would say that, brother.”

Darovik nodded solemnly. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

At that, the Doomguide glanced up. “Actually, yes. I am looking for Kaelyn the Dove. Her siblings have tracked her to Mulsantir but have since lost her trail. Do you know where she might be?”

Upon hearing the half-celestial’s name, the priest looked surprised. “Kaelyn is here? I hadn’t heard anything about that, and I know there would be quite a stir if she were seen. It has been some time since she graced Kelemvor’s temples… I believe she found a new calling in Ilmater, the Suffering God. If she is in Mulsantir and has not yet been noticed, then she has gone out of her way to remain undetected – perhaps even slipping into another plane. It would not be unheard of. The Menagerie once frequently traveled in such a manner. But their band has been dissolved, or so I had thought.”

“Her siblings said she might have been looking for Myrkul’s Vault,” Rhaine added. “Is that anywhere nearby?”

Darovik shook his head emphatically. “Not here, and certainly not in the house of Kelemvor – though this place did serve Myrkul in the past.” He paused for a moment, as if considering her question further, and then leaned close, murmuring as he met her eyes, “Mulsantir is the City of Shadows and Masks. I would shine some light into the darkest of shadows if I were seeking a secret place. You catch my meaning, yes?” He raised an eyebrow at her pointedly.

Rhaine’s eyes widened. It wasn’t just The Veil that had a shadow twin… it was the entirety of the city, it had to be. With Magda’s stone, she would likely be able to find more spots throughout Mulsantir where the Plane of Shadow merged with the Prime. And if ever there was a place to build a god’s Vault, it would be where the locals would least expect it.

Right under their noses.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Well, what did they say?”

Rhaine shook her head. “My affliction is still a mystery, but I think I know how to find Kaelyn, now.”

Safiya rose from the bench upon which she was sitting. “Really? How?”

The Doomguide lowered her voice as the two began walking again. “You know how Lienna had a portal in her room? I think there are more. We’ll have to wait until nightfall to know for certain, though.”

Safiya’s brow rose. “That is an interesting notion. You think this whole city has connections to the Plane of Shadow, then?”

“Not only that,” Rhaine nodded, “but I think this whole city has a shadow _twin_. And in it, I believe we’ll find Myrkul’s Vault.”

Safiya whistled. “Out of all the places in Faerûn, I would have never thought something like that to be anywhere near Mulsantir.”

The Doomguide shook her head. “Neither did I. But as far as I know, the Myrkulites were some of the best at hiding things in plain sight.”

They continued on until they reached what looked to be the prison. Inside, another Witch sat at a small table, a ring of keys hanging on the wall nearest her. She wore a bear mask, snowy white hair framing it.

“Ah, you must be the ones Sheva told me of,” she began, her voice cracking with age, “I don’t see why she’s bothering with all this and why you have to bother me, but it isn’t my place to argue. Talk with the prisoners if you like. The first two are not really worth your time, but as for the third, _guard your thoughts_.”

Unfortunately, just as the Witch had suggested, the first two prisoners to whom Rhaine spoke weren’t worth the effort. One was a disfigured hagspawn, the other a halfling. The former was a Rashemi native, the latter a traveler from Luiren, and they both refused to raise their hands against the spirits of the land, even if it meant freedom. Moving on, then, Rhaine noticed that the third cell was encased in stone, accessed by a wooden door… contrasting greatly with the other two cells, which were simply iron-barred cages. Tentatively, the Doomguide opened the door and was surprised at what she saw within.

There, sitting with his knees up in the center of an azure runed circle on the floor, was another hagspawn. But this one did not look like his hideous kin two cells down. No, this one would be considered quite handsome in appearance; the only evidence of his heritage was his indigo-hued skin and blue-tinted charcoal hair – suggesting that his mother might have been a powerful Night Hag. Unlike the others, who were garbed in only canvas breechcloths, he wore armor of silver chain and wolf furs, a spear leaning against the wall beside him.

Upon seeing his cell door opened, he raised an eyebrow at Rhaine as she entered, gazing at her with one critical blue eye, the other hidden rakishly by his shoulder-length hair. “More jailors come to rattle my cage? Here I was, settling into a relaxing dream, and now you’ve gone and spoiled it.”

“I’m not a jailor,” Rhaine replied, knowing she would likely have to apply a great amount of diplomacy to succeed where she had failed twice before, “but I might be your benefactor.”

“Ah,” a sly grin spread across his face in response. “Honeyed words from the other side of the cage. But what tune must I sing in return, I wonder? Whatever wards and locks bind this prison, I think clever words are the key to unlocking them. Go on. I am listening – my, _benefactor_.”

The Doomguide glanced around at the glowing runes he was sitting amongst and frowned. Something seemed strange about them, but she had difficulty placing it. Her brow furrowed. “What are these here for?”

“Oh, those?” The hagspawn acted as if he just had noticed the bright azure ring that surrounded him. “Did some child come by and scrawl them with a handful of chalk?”

She raised an eyebrow, as she finally realized what was wrong with them. “Possibly. But once scribed, someone altered them from the inside.”

Safiya peered over Rhaine’s shoulder to get a good look herself. “I had not noticed that. I thought them intentional reversals of binding wards, but you are correct.”

“A mystery indeed,” the hagspawn remarked, grinning mischievously. “Who do you suspect of altering them? Not me, I hope.”

Rhaine put a hand on her hip, cocking her head at him. “If you did this, then you are very skilled with scribing wards.”

“Ah, the sweet arrows of flattery have hit their mark,” he replied. “ _You_ may be worth speaking to for a while. But I seem to have forgotten why you are here. I am not a reader of minds, you know. So, out with it.”

“What crime did you commit to get in here, if I may ask?”

“My crime? It is a grievous one,” he answered, staring at the Doomguide intensely. “Alas, I am too handsome to look upon.”

Safiya made a retching noise behind her.

“I am Gannayev. Some call me Gann-of-Dreams,” he continued, “for that is what I do – I am the one who traipses in the nightly visions of sweet farmers’ daughters. I also speak with the spirits of the land and know their various cries and calls. The Witches rightly fear this power, so they have seen fit to lock me away.”

_A hagspawn spirit shaman and a dreamwalker, too?_

Rhaine leaned against the doorframe. “Well, Gann-of-Dreams, I am Rhaine Alcinea, and I am looking for people to help me defend Mulsantir.”

“Seeking soldiers are you?” his countenance hardened. “You’ve come to the wrong cell. I am neither foolhardy nor desperate enough to fight barbarians or Thayans.”

“Actually, I need help fighting an army of spirits that has gathered outside the gates.”

At that, his expression turned into one of utter surprise, his brows arcing high. “So they’re here then? I was wondering when that would happen in reality,” he said, glancing away briefly.

“Wait, you _knew_ this was going to happen?” Rhaine wondered if he possessed the gift of prophecy as well.

“Now, now,” he admonished, “knowing and telling are two different beasts, and the bear god – he is a third. You are rather brave to marshal a force against such an army. That’s no ordinary band of spirits out there – it’s a veritable hornet’s nest. They’re howling for blood so loudly, I can hear them in my dreams.

“And I am suddenly struck with the suspicion that the blood they seek is yours. Grave robber, are you? _Tsk, tsk_. One should not steal from the Bear King, lest he fly into a colorful furry rage. So, entertain me, brave one. Why would I follow you into such a hopeless battle, hmm?”

Rhaine smiled seductively, deciding to turn his narcissistic ways against him. She cocked her hip meeting his gaze. “Because all this time, you haven’t asked me to leave… and I think I know why.”

Gann smirked. “Careful, or they’ll lock you in here for being charming and well-spoken, too… even if you aren’t _quite_ as beautiful as I am. I’ll admit that your presence and your request intrigue me. Slightly. But that’s a slight more than most.”

She mirrored his smirk with her own. “I’ll take that as a compliment. A slight one.”

He jumped to his feet, then, seizing his spear. “Ha! An excellent rebuttal. I think this bodes well for our travels together. Very well, you have a willing soldier at your side. Shall we be off?”

She grinned. “Indeed. Let us go.”

\------------------------------------------------------

After he was officially freed, Gann and Safiya exchanged formal greetings, and the threesome wandered about Mulsantir together while waiting for night to fall, the two women becoming more familiar with the city and its layout. The spirit shaman and wizardess both picked up some food along the way from the only vendor who dared to remain open – the one catering to the yet-patrolling berserkers.

Once twilight finally settled across the land, they then began scanning the darkened alleyways for possible rifts into the Shadow Plane. At last they found one, in an alley behind the stables, near the city gates. Having traveled through one of these rifts once before, Rhaine was not as tentative as she had been the first time, and she stepped through the black portal with ease, Gann and Safiya on her heels.

Once on the other side, her suspicions were confirmed. The entirety of Mulsantir was duplicated, with only a few changes here and there. Instead of flesh-and-blood denizens, however, the dark twin was populated by shadows, wraiths, and nightwalkers. All easily fell to their spells… but Rhaine discovered another disconcerting fact in their battles with these undead.

She could no longer call the _Bond of_ _Fatal Touch_.

No matter how many times she tried to establish the connection, it would not take. The sword remained entirely unresponsive, as if she had never been bestowed the gift to start with.

Rhaine suspected that whatever was blocking her link to her god was tied to her newfound affliction somehow. Then again, she could not help but ask herself if Kelemvor had somehow forsaken her. But if that was true, how could she continue to cast spells? It made no sense. She received her divine energy directly from her patron. If he no longer supported her, then she would have no magic – plain and simple. And why would he do such a thing when, to her knowledge, she had not done anything to warrant such a punishment?

Yet, at least.

Perhaps it was something to discuss with Darovik when they returned to the Prime.

For now, however, the Doomguide pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind as she, Safiya, and Gann made their way through the shadow city, watching their backs as they went. There, on the hill where Mulsantir’s Temple of Kelemvor would have been on the Prime, was a towering circular structure of obsidian and granite. The place was ornately adorned with hundreds of skeleton motifs, and many banners upon the dark walls bore a white skull resting within a black archway – the symbol of the old god of the dead.

Myrkul’s Vault.

Safiya looked up at the structure with brows raised, taking a deep breath. “This looks like the Vault. Do you think Kaelyn is inside?”

“If she is, let us hope that she lives,” Rhaine replied grimly. “I have a bad feeling about this place.”

“As do I,” Gann added. “And it’s not my usual disdain for your so-called ‘gods’.”

The Doomguide cast him a glare. So he was a Faithless soul, then? Not just out of ignorance, but out of choice? He was certainly in for a harsh reality check, then.

Though that did beg the question of just how he was casting his spells…

Rhaine wordlessly moved forward, carefully pushing open the heavy doors of the Vault after Kaji disarmed the negative energy trap he had spotted with his keen little eyes. Together, they eased inside, eyes flicking from left to right to detect any foes that might emerge from the deep shadows within. Ahead of them was what seemed to be an empty entrance hall, flooded for the first thirty feet with a liquid that was tinged red even on the nigh-colorless Shadow Plane. Steps led up from the pool to what appeared to be a lounge area, complete with lavish frescoes and marble benches. Then, more steps led steeply downwards again to a strangely-shaped obsidian door. It was in front of this door that a white-haired woman with white wings stood, stock-still, her back to the group.

The Doomguide cautiously walked forth, having no choice but to step into the pool of red liquid to proceed further. The fluid sloshed lazily around her ankles as she moved, and she realized with horror that the liquid was in fact _blood_. She winced as her sabatons became soaked with crimson, leaving bloody footprints as she ascended the few steps and approached the winged woman ahead of her.

“There are few who would brave the tattered black gates that tie this Shadow Mulsantir to its twin,” the woman began, turning around to face her visitors. “Yet you have come, brave or not.”

Rhaine took in the half-celestial’s features. Her white hair was cut into a feathery bob around her oval face, her features delicate, but her black eyes shining with inner strength. She wore a glittering suit of silver armor, a mace held ready in one hand. At first she appeared curious, but then she seemed taken aback when her dark eyes found Rhaine’s holy symbol where it hung around the Doomguide’s neck.

“And foolish as well,” she added, brow furrowing. “You risk much by coming here, possibly more than you realize. Why do you endanger yourself, so? Has something called you to this place?”

Rhaine lifted her chin. “What I risk is my business alone. Are you Kaelyn the Dove? Your siblings have been looking for you.”

“I am not surprised,” she answered with a small sigh. “No doubt it was Efrem or Susah whom you met. Possibly both. I have been cut off from the Menagerie for some time, and it seems they are unwilling to give up the hunt. But it would be unlike them to abandon it, especially for their sister’s sake.

“Yes, I am Kaelyn. Formerly of the House of the Triad,” she confirmed with a nod. “My heart now lies within the House of Ilmater.”

Rhaine jerked her head towards the obsidian door. “And what is a sister of the Ilmatari doing in the Death God’s Vault?”

“The same could be asked of a Kelemvorite,” Kaelyn remarked dryly. “But if you must know, I seek entrance to the lower levels. The next stage of my pilgrimage lies there, and all that stands in the way is this gate. Yet I cannot find a way to open it, no matter how hard I try.”

“Seems like the gate has already gotten the upper hand, then,” Rhaine observed, one brow lifted as she glanced to the yet firmly-locked portal. “Look, why don’t you come with us back to the Prime? You worry your siblings with your absence, and continuing to stare at this door serves no purpose, regardless of your goals.”

“My purpose _does_ lie here,” Kaelyn retorted. “I _will_ find some way to open it, regardless of how long it may take. Somewhere in this Vault is the key.” She took a breath, lips thinning. “But you are right… I _should_ see to my siblings. This door will always be here, whether I am or not. Very well, let us leave this place for now. I will think on this obstacle and return some other time.”

They quickly left the entryway of Myrkul’s Vault, then, four now instead of three. Rhaine did not know why the half-celestial rubbed her the wrong way, but she did. The Doomguide had a bad feeling that Kaelyn was nosing around the Vault for more reasons than just a simple “pilgrimage.” And the fact that Kaelyn’s siblings had mentioned her abandoning Kelemvor’s faith did nothing to ease Rhaine’s mind. Judging from her stiff reactions to the Doomguide’s presence there, the Ilmatari likely harbored resentment towards followers of her former god, and perhaps even towards Kelemvor himself. If so, it was further cause to believe that she sought access to the Lower Vaults for more reasons than simply an innocent trial of faith.

The foursome swiftly moved back the way they had come, re-emerging upon the Prime before the shadows could rematerialize from their eternal font of negative energy. And as they passed through the portal from the Shadow Plane, Rhaine noticed that Kaelyn’s complexion remained grey… odd, considering the appearance of her siblings.

As soon as they rounded the corner from the stables and began heading towards the bazaar once more, Efrem and Susah came running forth, joyful expressions plastered on their faces as they beheld Kaelyn.

“Little sister, you have returned! You must stop flying from us, you worry us so!”

Kaelyn embraced her older siblings warmly. “And you must stop worrying for me. Why have you followed me? I thought that you-”

Efrem crossed his arms. “How could we let our sister endure her exile alone, after all we have been through together?”

“Please,” Susah entreated. “We miss you so! I’m sure grandfather would let you come home if you just made penance to Kelemvor! He is a just and fair god. Trust him to resolve your internal struggles.”

Kaelyn shook her head. “No, I cannot. There are wrongs that remain uncorrected by Kelemvor, and by the other gods as well.”

“Then let us come with you!”

“No, my siblings. What I do puts my very body and perhaps even my soul at risk for destruction… I cannot and will not allow you to suffer the same fate,” she replied firmly.

Rhaine’s eyes narrowed as she listened to this conversation unfold. So it _was_ personal beef with Kelemvor. And whatever she was doing in that Vault wasn’t just to spite the Lord of the Dead, but apparently _all_ the gods… for what reason, it didn’t matter. It was both a foolish and childish endeavor, and it would likely end with her death. If not worse.

“I’ve brought your sister to you, as promised,” the Doomguide interjected, tired of Kaelyn’s brashness already.

Efrem turned his attention to Rhaine and nodded. “And, as promised, we will fight at your side.”

At that, Kaelyn looked deeply concerned. “What? What have you gotten yourselves into?”

“We asked Rhaine to help us look for you,” Susah replied, “and in return, we offered to help her fight the army of spirits that has gathered outside the gates.”

“It was not my intention to endanger you, my siblings,” Kaelyn answered, turning back to Rhaine. “Please. Release them from their bond. I will fight with you and that will be enough. I do not wish my brother and sister to suffer on my account.”

At least she had that much to her credit. Considering Kaelyn’s offer for a breath, Rhaine at last relented, “Very well. Efrem and Susah are released from their promise.”

Kaelyn offered her a half-smile of appreciation. “Thank you. Now, my siblings, go back home. My path now lies with Rhaine, for now.”

“But sister-”

She held up her hand to halt them. “Enough. Go back to Celestia and live in peace. The Menagerie’s time is long over.”

At last, Susah reluctantly nodded. “Behold the conviction in our sister’s eyes. We cannot sway her from this.”

Removing his antlered helm, Efrem moved past Kaelyn and proffered it to Rhaine. “Here. Take my helm. Use it to protect my sister. If I catch word that she has perished by your side, I will return for the helmet, and your life with it.”

The Doomguide’s brow rose critically, even as she reluctantly took the helm from him.

Susah then took her brother by the arm and began leading him away, even as both siblings looked back over their shoulders at their sister. “Goodbye, Kaelyn. We will think of you. We will _pray_ for you.”

Rhaine watched as the two departed through Mulsantir’s gates, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes in irritation at the whole situation. Then, once they were gone, she shoved the helmet into Kaelyn’s hands with a heavy sigh, turning away from the half-celestial and back towards the city’s heart. “Let us retire to The Sloop, where we can discuss our strategy on how to defeat Okku’s army. At dawn, we fight.”


	22. The Hunger Wakes

“So, you’re saying that Okku’s strength lies with his army?”

Gann nodded, leaning back in his rickety chair with his hands behind his head. “Yes. The more of those telthors – err, _spirits_ – we drive off, the weaker he will become.”

“So,” Safiya added, eyes distant as she thought, “all we have to do is keep Okku from doing too much damage in the time it takes to dissolve his power.”

Kaelyn shifted in her seat, her own chair creaking ominously under the weight of her armored body. “It would, perhaps, be best for me to stay on the defensive and keep healing spells and shields going.”

“That would be advisable,” Gann replied with a smirk. “As I’ll be letting you know when the bear god is weak enough to attack; if I fall, you’ll have to use your best judgment.”

“You won’t fall,” Kaelyn answered firmly. “That is a promise.”

Rhaine downed her glass of wine – or, what was supposed to be wine. “I suppose I’ll be Okku’s main distraction while you take care of the telthors, then.”

“Not an easy feat, that,” Gann remarked. “They’ll all be headed straight for you. Whatever you have done, they seek vengeance on you and you alone.”

“Which is why we need to strike swiftly and with large-scale spells,” Safiya observed pointedly. “They’ll do the most damage to many opponents at once. We cannot afford to waste time with small cantrips against individuals.”

“And when Okku is finally vulnerable,” Rhaine finished. “I’ll need you all to focus on him and put an end to the battle quickly.”

They looked one to the other. Such a plan sounded well and good now, but they knew things would be much different once on the actual battlefield. Anything could happen, and all of their strategizing might be for naught.

After a moment, Kaelyn stood and yawned, stretching her wings upwards towards the ceiling. “Well. I do not think we can discuss any more aspects of this battle than we already have, and we are all in need of rest if we are to combat the spirits in the morn. We should retire.”

“Agreed.” Gann stood as well, winking at Rhaine as he pushed in his chair. “I _am_ in need of my beauty sleep, after all.”

Safiya said nothing until she and Rhaine returned to the room they shared. But once the Doomguide shut the door behind them, the wizardess snorted, “What an egotistical windbag.”

At that, Rhaine couldn’t help but chuckle at the wizardess’s remark. “I’m guessing you don’t like him?”

Safiya rolled her eyes, tossing her satchel onto her footlocker. “Those who speak overmuch of the value of dreams are usually trying to sell you something.” Then, sighing, she added, “That being said, I would at least put some trust in him, simply because he responds well to blunt honesty. After growing up around deceitful Red Wizards, I know that a true liar wants to be lied to in return.”

Thinking upon Safiya’s words, the Doomguide began unbuckling her armor, gradually removing it piece by piece. After a minute, she asked, “And what do you think about Kaelyn?”

The Red Wizard scoffed, “That servant of…” But then she paused, sighing heavily and shaking her head. “I’ve never trusted people of faith. They live their lives completely detached from reason.”

Rhaine paused and raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” Safiya held up her hands defensively. “There _are_ exceptions, I’ll grant. But Kaelyn is _not_ one of them. You can hear a terminal innocence in her voice. If you told her that faith would feed her, she would gladly starve herself and die in prayer.”

Despite its irreligiosity, the Doomguide couldn’t help but burst out laughing at her comrade’s remark. “That’s a good one.”

The wizardess grinned, but then her expression soon turned serious again. “Don’t let my prejudice against the faithful stain your view of Kaelyn, though. There is no reason for you not to trust her, yet. She is, in her very blood, a creature of goodness and integrity.”

 _Is she?_ Rhaine thought, recalling the half-celestial’s words both in Myrkul’s Vault and to her siblings. Something about her, despite her heritage, seemed like a façade of virtue hiding a far more troubled soul behind it. A far more dangerous soul, in fact. To the Suffering God she may have run, but what part of suffering did she find herself drawn to? And for what reason? Ilmatari, despite their overall goodness and altruism, had a reputation for also harboring darker individuals in their ranks.

Ultimately, the Doomguide sighed heavily and slipped Safiya’s spare robe over herself, falling onto her hard bed. It would be a long while before a light sleep overtook her. Her thoughts were alive with battle plans and anticipation of the morrow’s fight. Okku must have held a serious grudge if he followed her all the way from his barrow with an army on his heels. Something told her it was more than just vengeance for her trespass, however…

And the _presence_ within her was growing restless.

\------------------------------------------------------

The morning air was cool and crisp. The foursome stood side by side as they beheld the spirit army on the road before them. The gates of Mulsantir creaked as the berserkers closed them behind the group, barring the entrance to the city until the battle was over. Meanwhile, the residents were climbing up onto the walls to watch the eminent fight, eager to see the spirits appeased… in one way or another.

“You recall what I told you, yes?” Gann inquired, casting a sideways glance to Rhaine.

The Doomguide nodded, drawing _Touch of Death_. “Focus on the army first and listen for your call, _then_ attack Okku.”

“Good! You remember.” He grinned his approval, readying his spear. “Let us see if our weapons are as sharp as your memory, then.”

They advanced towards the spirit army, a wall of shifting and shimmering blue spirits in all forms: panthers, leopards, bears, wolves… there were even dryads and earth elementals in their ranks. And in the midst of them all, twice as large as he had been in the barrow, was the bear king himself, eyes bright with power and fury. As the foursome neared, the spirits seemed to simultaneously hiss in revulsion, recoiling.

It was then that Okku stepped forth. “So, you are brave after all. Wood and stone would not have kept us from you, but it is good that innocent lives may be spared. We can finish this quickly, if you like. Present your neck. It will fit snugly between my teeth, and we can all go back to our dreams.”

Rhaine’s brow furrowed, “Let me ask you this: what did I do to offend you so much that you want me dead?”

“It is not what you _did_ , little one, but what you _are_ ,” the bear god rumbled. “Can’t you smell it? It is driving these spirits _mad_. You do not know what you are… not yet. If you did, you might _ask_ that I kill you – better that you never know at all.”

“Then spare your followers and mine. Let us settle this between us and us alone.”

Okku growled. “You misunderstand, little one. I am here at _their_ behest – by the will of the land itself. Now, enough talk! I will slay you, or I will die and dream no more.” He bared his long ivory fangs, rearing back on his hind legs. “Tonight, you will lie in the Cavern of Runes, and there you will _stay_!”

Total chaos ensued. Okku leapt forward with far more speed and strength than she had expected. Rhaine was forced to roll to the side, barely dodging his teeth and claws and landing right in the path of a charging earth elemental. The air aroud her was rapidly filled with a deafening roar of both animal cries and magical incantations as Gann and Safiya’s spells suddenly ripped through their ranks, lightning and fire tearing the smaller telthors to shreds and blasting the earth elemental apart.

As she scrambled to get back to her feet, the Doomguide thought she could hear Gann yelling that their current strategy was not enough. Then, there was a flurry of motion as Kaelyn lighted next to her, dragging her out of Okku’s way and simultaneously casting a shielding spell upon her. The celestial managed to skirt past a dryad’s long, poisoned spear as she did so, and Rhaine quickly retaliated by knocking the weapon out of the spirit’s hands, plunging her sword into the nature guardian’s thin form. The Doomguide then cast a _Hammer of the Gods_ , the blinding divine energy severely damaging many of the nearby spirits with its power and buying them both something of a reprieve.

It wasn’t but a second before Kaelyn was gone again, this time flying over to Gann’s side. It appeared the panther telthors had converged upon him, and Safiya attempted to disperse them by casting a strategically-placed fireball. Okku found Rhaine once more and surrounded her with several earth elementals so that she could not escape him this time. In response, she summoned a _Blade Barrier_ around herself, hoping to keep them all away from her as she followed up with a _Fire Storm_. More of the telthors fell, and she realized in that moment that fire and divine light were their key weaknesses, much like undead.

“We’re draining him!” Gannayev shouted. “Just a little more!”

“Fire and light!” Rhaine yelled, hoping they had heard her as she cast a _Flame Strike_. A few of the lesser elementals fell to her incantation, and Okku could not approach her without fear of being sliced by the magic blades. He roared in rage.

Safiya then launched a _Meteor Swarm_ spell upon the rear flank, fiery boulders raining onto the seemingly endless spirit army. Their ranks were thinned considerably at that, and of a sudden, Rhaine heard Gann’s cry overtop the cacophany.

“ _NOW_!”

The Doomguide dispelled her _Blade Barrier_ and brought all of her strength to bear against Okku in melee. Dodging his mighty paws, she slashed left and right, _Touch of Death_ causing his form to recoil with each strike. Safiya, Gann, and Kaelyn focused their mightiest spells upon the bear king, freezing, shocking, and burning him in tandem with their magic both arcane and divine, all the while keeping any other spirits at bay.

At last, after what seemed like forever, he howled in pain and fury, backing away from Rhaine and lowering his head in defeat. The remainder of the spirits ceased their assault, similarly retreating from the four combatants and leaving them standing alone in their protective circle.

“Enough! I yield.” Okku prostrated himself on his belly before her. “Hurry, little one. Take a blade… tear out my throat!”

Panting from adrenaline and exertion, the Doomguide shook her head, puzzled at the spirit’s eagerness for death. “I… I came here to make peace with you, bear god, and I have done just that. I will not kill you… not when you have surrendered to me.”

“No! You don’t understand, do it before-”

A strange humming sound surrounded her, and Rhaine suddenly felt herself lifted from her feet like a puppet on a string, her limbs useless. Her entire body seemed to vibrate with an alien energy, and she could sense the _presence_ within her bubbling to the surface, writhing and seething beneath her skin… growing and growing until it nearly consumed her vision with its strength…

“Wha-?” she managed to gasp out as an accompanying pain welled from deep inside her, a predatory hunger that _reached_ for Okku’s vulnerable form with greedy claws. Panic quickly rose along with it

“What _is_ that? It feels like a whiplash across my mind…” Gann held his head in his hands, wincing as if in pain.

“This is the same as what happened in the barrow, when you consumed that spirit wolf,” Safiya murmured, her tone almost a fearful one.

“Stop this attack!” Kaelyn urged. “Whatever you’re doing, you’re feeding off of his spirit… _siphoning_ it!”

“The hunger inside you… it wakes.” Okku closed his golden eyes, a certain despair in his words as he saw the scarlet tendrils of power emerging from the Doomguide’s torso and beginning to wrap themselves lazily around his limbs.

_No, no!_

“What _is_ this?!” Rhaine cried, bringing all of her willpower to bear to fight it and desperately trying to maintain what control she had left. It was as if someone else had taken over her body, compelling whatever it was inside her to feed off of Okku’s life force. She twisted her body midair, thrashing her arms and legs about but to no avail.

“Emptiness,” the bear god replied sadly, “Forgive me. I tried to stop you.”

Not again. She would not be this animalistic _thing_ … she would not be _controlled_ like this!

With a ferocious scream of rage, agony, and defiance, Rhaine _willed_ herself to return to her feet, _forcing_ the twisting hunger back inside of her and shutting off the flow of energy from Okku as if slamming a door. Doubling over with the sheer effort, she fell to her knees with her arms wrapped around her torso, as if she could physically hold back the beast inside her. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks from both the pain and the energy she had just expended as she gasped in anguish.

 _Touch of Death_ fell from her hand as she became a sobbing ball of pain upon the road. But she had stopped the power from consuming Okku, and that was all that mattered.

“Did you just… rein in an attack?” Gann spoke from behind her, his tone one of awe. “I felt the hunger ripple through the spirits, and then it was chained… caged.”

“You spared me, little one.” She could see Okku looking at her with shining eyes through her tear-blurred vision, an element of surprise in his voice. “Once before, a spirit-eater spared my life.”

Rhaine hiccupped, her own eyes widening as she met his gaze. “What… what did you just call me?”

“A spirit-eater,” Okku repeated gently. “You are cursed, little one, with a terrible hunger for my kind. I knew that when I saw you in the barrow. Nakata must have known it, too.”

“A curse?” The Doomguide slowly regained her composure, straightening as she picked up her sword and eased back to her feet, though her face was yet contorted in an expression of both pain and disbelief. “But, where did it come from?”

Okku, too, rose to his feet again. “I do not know where it originated, or how it came to fall upon your shoulders. Your question reaches back to when I was still alive. It is like asking the river to remember the snow from which it was born.

“And I recall little about the curse itself… only the one I knew who bore it. I remember a lake of groaning ice, a man standing over me in triumph, and a hunger withheld in mercy. For this, I offered to help him end his curse, and allowed him to share my grave…” The bear spirit trailed, as if his memory was failing him. “It eventually devoured him from within. And it will do the same to you, little friend.

“I made a simple oath, but I must have failed,” he said finally, looking up at her. “That the curse is upon you now is a mark of my shame. As such, my oath will extend to you as well, little one… if you will have me.”

“I… I would welcome your aid, and your friendship, Okku,” Rhaine panted, curling her free arm about her torso as she still ached with a deep and ravenous agony. “I never wanted to be your enemy.”

“Good. Then we will see what we can do to end this curse, flesh and fur together. Until such time as I return to my barrow and my vow is kept, these spirits will have no king – no one worthy of the title. Let them go back to their dreaming.”

The remaining spirits of his army then faded from sight, as if they had never been, leaving the meadow before Mulsantir strangely quiet and empty. Almost peaceful.

Gannayev leaned on his spear. “So, Old King Bear deigns to travel with us? We are blessed, indeed. Even though I am already here, one more legend will make pleasant company.”

“Hmph,” Okku grunted. “Do not make me regret sparing you during our battle, hagspawn.”

“Now, now, Old King Bear,” Gann cast a wry smile Rhaine’s way, “let us show some respect to our cursed and strikingly beautiful ally. She is a spirit-eater, it seems – which bodes ill events to come. For spirit-eaters must feed…” he trailed, his expression turning solemn, “or they die.”

A moment of panic clutched at Rhaine’s heart as Gann said this, and she opened her mouth to speak, but no voice came out.

“We’re drawing a crowd at the gate,” Safiya whispered. “As much as I hate to say it, I think we should go to the Witches for advice.”

She and Gann then looped their arms behind the Doomguide’s back to physically support her as she turned back for the city and began slowly walking towards the gates, feeling weaker than ever. As they gradually approached, Kaelyn and Okku bringing up the rear, the townsfolk could be heard chattering amongst themselves like magpies.

“…she’s cursed…”

“…the spirit-eater…”

“…just like the old tales…”

The berserkers opened the gates for them, but Rhaine thought it was more out of deference to Okku than for her, as they ran from her with fear in their eyes as soon as she neared. Others of them even cursed her, spitting at her feet with hard expressions. As she looked around, she glimpsed Brother Darovik upon a nearby parapet.

His was the only expression of pity.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Monster! What did I tell you, Sheva! I smelled it on her at the theatre.”

They stood in the outdoor temple on the highest point of Mulsantir, magnificent wooden statues of the goddesses Chauntea, Mielikki, and Mystra looking down upon them with elegantly-carved visages. Sheva approached Rhaine, grave concern in her eyes, though her mask hid her expression.

“When you came to this city, stranger,” the eldest Witch asked quietly, “did you know what you were?”

Rhaine was still quite shaken from her recent experience, her mind awhirl with frantic thoughts and her body weak, and so it took her a moment to answer. “I… I could not put a name to my affliction, no. But I felt the hunger before then, in Okku’s barrow.”

“Then you should have taken a stone and crushed your skull at once!” Kazimika shrieked. “You curse us all with your presence and even have enslaved the bear king, it seems!”

“She has done no such thing,” Okku growled. “I swore an oath to the spirit eater before her – a man who spared my life, as she has done – to end this blight upon the land. I failed, and so my vow now belongs to her.”

“Truly?” the dark-headed Witch quipped. “Your memories have faded like a summer storm, and-”

“Speak to my ally with respect, Witch,” Rhaine snapped. “He is a spirit you claim to _serve_.”

Okku looked upon Kazimika with a piercing gaze. “I remember the prayers of a dockside waif, before she donned her mask… that the spirits would make her pretty, so the sailors would whistle at _her_ … perhaps even pay for her company…”

“These are _lies_ , Sheva! The monster has cor-”

“ _Silence_ , Kazimika!” the silver-haired Witch barked, before bowing to Okku. “My apologies, Lord Okku. My sister forgets herself. It is not our place to question the mind of a god. As for you, spirit-eater,” she inclined her head to Rhaine, “I am sure you have questions. Ask them, and I shall answer.”

Rhaine hesitated, thinking. “So… what _is_ a spirit-eater, exactly? Other than the obvious, of course.”

Sheva paused. “It is hard to say. No spirit-eater has existed in the lifetime of anyone who walks the land today. They were always legends, stories – the boogeymen of children’s tales. And all were rumored to have died because of their curse… their hunger eventually turned against them and devoured them from within.”

“Is there a cure?” the Doomguide asked.

The Witch shook her head. “I do not know. And it is not something that we _would_ know. That information can only lie with those who have dealt frequently with your kind… spirits, not mortals.”

“My sister speaks of the Wood Man,” Kazimika added, apparently willing to offer something other than barbed commentary for once. “The spirit of the Ashenwood, to the north. He has dealt with your kind before, and he has laid them all _low_.”

“Then if he has destroyed them,” Rhaine inquired skeptically, “why would he help me?”

“There is no guarantee that he will, for all your good intentions,” Sheva replied. “But if you seek answers, it is to the Ashenwood you must go. There is an outpost nearby, on the shores of Lake Ashane, headed by our sister Dalenka. She will be able to direct you to the Wood Man. Seek out our shipwright, Vaszil, here in Mulsantir, and he will prepare a boat for you… just tell him I sent you.”

“And what of Magda?” The Doomguide inquired. “You said you would keep her until the spirit army was dispersed.”

“She has been released back to The Veil along with her colleagues,” Sheva answered with a dip of her head. “You may speak with her, if you so choose.”

Rhaine nodded her gratitude. “Thank you.”

Sheva offered her own slight smile in response. “Go, now. I pray that you will find the answers you seek in the Ashenwood. But I fear that you will not return.”


	23. Dejection

Father Dunstan’s hands trembled as he read the letter again.

_Father Dunstan,_

_We received your letter regarding the Knight-Captain of Crossroad Keep. It is our understanding that Lady Rhaine Alcinea went missing shortly after the collapse of Merdelain, where the corpses of two of her companions were recovered. Unfortunately, an extensive search of the area is not possible due to the shortage of troops and budget constraints. Therefore, it is our deepest regret to inform you that after so many days of her missing in action, with no evidence of her survival, the Knight-Captain has been pronounced dead. We are truly sorry to be the bearers of such news._

_Our sincerest condolences,_

_Sir Nevalle of the Neverwinter Nine, right hand of Lord Nasher Alagondar_

No. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. If she was dead, he would know it.

He stood abruptly, tossing the letter into the fireplace, where he watched the flames slowly eat the thick parchment and elegant scrawl. His brow furrowed. The lack of evidence of her survival did not mean that she was dead. The only way he would believe she had died was if he saw her corpse with his own eyes.

Dunstan swept from the room, his strides purposeful as he maneuvered through the marbled halls of the temple. He did not meet the eyes of the other priests as he passed them, delivering the clear message that he was not in the mood for conversation. Quickly crossing the nave, he made his way into the West Chapel and locked the door behind him.

For a moment, he merely stood there, letting out a shaky breath. This was the Chapel where she had been accepted as a Doomguide two years ago – the cushion she had sat upon… the altar she had knelt before. Dunstan’s eyes pricked with hot tears as he remembered her elation. She had been filled with so much pride that day, and he was so proud _for_ her. Kelemvor himself seemed to have much planned for her. Surely her life was meant to be more than a mere twenty-two years?

Dunstan slowly moved forward, kneeling upon the cushion and gazing up at the holy symbol upon the wall. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts empty, before casting a prayer to the Lord of the Dead.

_My lord, please hear me now. Tell me that my beloved Rhaine does not lie in your realm… that she is guided by your capable hands and will return to us, soon…_

The entire night passed, and there was no answer.

\------------------------------------------------------

Daeghun crouched behind a willow, still as a deer, his eyes locked upon the dark figures combing the ruins. He watched as they pulled something from the rubble, his heart skipping a beat.

No. It wasn’t her.

The elf peered through the leaves, squinting at the figures’ shields. They were more Luskans, a scouting party sent in recent days… no doubt sifting through the remnants of Merdelain for reasons that would surely cause misery to everyone around them. They had already taken advantage of Neverwinter’s weakened forces to seize Port Llast, and now it was rumored that a constant storm plagued the small town.

He continued to hunker behind the tree, unmoving, until the Luskans at last left with their burden, dissolving into the mist of the swamp. Only then, when they were far out of sight, did Daeghun circle the edge of the ruins, a soundless shadow in the night-filled Mere. The ranger carefully picked his way forward, beginning what would be a third search of the rubble in the past tenday.

After half the night had passed, he ceased his hunt. Sitting wearily on a damp fragment of crumbling wall, he reached into his satchel and pulled out his only find of worth. It was her cloak – her beautiful blue cloak that marked her as a knight of Neverwinter, the fine fabric shredded and stained purple with blood.

He pressed it to his face and began to weep.

\------------------------------------------------------

Gann, Safiya, and Kaelyn sat together at The Sloop, a map spread between them, their now full packs on the floor at their feet, ready for the week-long journey to the Ashenwood. Okku rested nearby, watching them with intense golden eyes, his presence deterring any gawkers or troublemakers. Rhaine had declined to join her companions, thoroughly exhausted after her earlier experience and wishing to be alone. Thus, they continued their planning without her, speaking in hushed voices so as not to disturb her – or clue any other patrons in to their business.

“So,” Gannayev looked to Safiya, “visiting Magda is obviously our first move. If we can find out how Rhaine got here, then perhaps we will know how she obtained her curse to begin with.”

The Red Wizard nodded her agreement. “Yes. I’m certain Lienna would have a confidante amongst her players. Magda seems like the most logical choice, as the obvious leader of their troupe.”

“Then after we visit the dwarf woman, what do we do?”

At that, Safiya sighed. “As far as I know, the spirit-eater curse is entirely Rashemi in origin. And it has never left the bounds of these lands. If we are to find out more about where the spirit-eater came from and how it functions, we need to access local lore on the subject… which could prove difficult, as Rashemi legends are passed down by word of mouth. The only reason I know anything about it is because a few traveling scholars wrote it down for curiosity’s sake.”

“Rhaine will not like this suggestion,” Kaelyn interjected, “but if we are to know more about a local problem, we must investigate a local archive. Myrkul’s Vault is the only place I know of nearby that houses lore old enough to be contemporary with the origin of the spirit-eater. Perhaps the old priests of the dead kept records of such a curse; it is, after all, inextricably tied to souls and their energies.”

“Agreed,” Safiya replied. “Rhaine may have to step outside the bounds of her faith if she wishes to cure herself – which I’m sure she does.”

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission?” Gann remarked with a smirk.

“Forgiveness is a difficult thing for the gods to grant,” Kaelyn added, “and Kelemvor is not known for his mercy regarding trespasses. If she fears for her soul strongly enough, she will have to choose another god’s calling to avoid his full wrath.”

“Petty ‘gods’ and their games of faith,” the spirit shaman snorted. “The fact that you people _can_ flit from god to god without retribution is a testament to their insignificance.”

“ _Hmph_ ,” Okku rumbled lowly. “Your sharp tongue is going to be your downfall, hagspawn.”

“Enough!” Safiya snapped. “We’re here to discuss what to do about Rhaine’s curse, not debate matters of faith. Now, is there anything else we need to handle in Mulsantir before we head to the Ashenwood?”

“I think we’ve covered anything we can do here,” Kaelyn answered. “I feel certain that most of our answers are going to lay outside the city walls. This will not be good for Rhaine – she already suffers greatly, and travel will only make her condition worse.”

“It also seems that she does not want her hunger to control her,” Okku added pointedly. “A noble goal, but one that will drive her faster towards her grave.”

The companions fell into silence, then. It seemed they had all found themselves wrapped up in a situation bigger than they had at first anticipated – more important than their own individual goals. None of them wished to see Rhaine consumed by this horrible curse, and yet all of them feared that she would be.

\------------------------------------------------------

She sat on her bed with her knees up, arms curled around her legs.

Disgust consumed her.

Her stomach had become extremely sensitive as of late, and as the scent of the inn’s greasy food came wafting into her room, she retched a few times – nothing more than violent, dry heaves, however, as she had not eaten enough within the past day to properly vomit.

Rhaine had to resist the urge to shatter the already cracked mirror on the wall, the distorted glass that mercilessly reflected her sick features back at her. She looked like a half-dead _thing_ … an undead monstrosity. It was oddly fitting, considering the conclusions she had come to within the past few hours.

Kazimika was right. She _was_ an abomination – a being that drew energy from “feeding” off of the spirits of others. In short, it was a necromantic existence. And furthermore, by allowing herself to succumb to the curse in the barrow, devouring the wolf spirit Nakata, she had performed such necromancy… an act akin to spiritual vampirism.

And thus, she had broken one of the strictest tenets of her faith. It did not matter whether she did so intentionally or not.

Not only that, but she had also forcefully entered Myrkul’s Vault – forbidden to those of the Kelemvorite faith, as it was both the holy ground of a displaced predecessor and a resting place for ancient priests.

And again, she had broken a tenet.

Now, she was faced with a forked trail. One path was that of suppression – to refuse to devour another spirit and waste away into nothingness, allowing the hunger to consume _her_ instead. The other path was that of submission – to allow herself to devour spirits on a regular basis to satisfy the ravening presence within her… a route that would increase her craving exponentially until she was nothing but a walking void. And the hunger would consume her anyway.

Two roads, both leading to death… both paved with damnable acts.

_Trust in Kelemvor… and never lose faith in yourself…_

Even now, Father Gerard’s dying words echoed in her mind.

As Rhaine stared at the wall before her and clutched her cold holy amulet so tightly it marked her palm, eyes burning with tears, she made up her mind.

She would blaze her own trail. She would not let the hunger control her. _She_ would control _it_. If she was doomed to be a devourer of spirits, then _she_ would decide what to consume… and when to consume it. 

And above all, whatever it took to find her answers, she would have revenge on the one who did this to her – on the one who created such an abominable parasite – if it was the last thing she did.


	24. Masks and Veils

“So, what’s it like being the spirit-eater of Rashemi legend?”

Rhaine cast Safiya an astonished look as she tightened the buckles of her breastplate the following morning, a look that quickly morphed into one of slight irritation. “What do you _think_? I have a soul-eating parasite living inside of me. It’s torturous… painful… _maddening_.”

The Red Wizard merely shrugged in response, tying her rope belt around her waist. “I only ask because I recall reading passages about the Rashemi spirit-eater in some of the Academy’s texts. When you’ve read about a legend on parchment, it’s always fascinating to meet that legend in the flesh.”

“Did those texts mention a cure?”

She sighed, her movements halting for a moment. “Sadly, no. All previous bearers of the curse were said to have gone insane… and died. Rather quickly.”

The Doomguide felt another twinge of fear twist deep in her gut – oddly more powerful than the persistent hunger for spirits that had finally abated somewhat in strength, yet still writhed slowly within her just enough to remind her of its presence. Yet she forced herself to remain outwardly indifferent. “No matter. Just because one hasn’t been found yet doesn’t mean it is nonexistent.”

As Kaji alighted on her shoulder, the wizardess gave her a small smile and pulled up her hood. “Perhaps your optimism is a sign that the curse isn’t as dire as tales tell.”

A few moments of silence followed while Rhaine double-checked her supplies and her armor, before Kaji piped up in his raspy voice, “So… if you’re a spirit-eater, what do spirits taste like?”

Rhaine stopped mid-movement, simply staring at the little homunculus for a breath or two. He did nothing but blink twice in return, indicating that he was quite serious about his inquiry. Straightening, she began hesitantly, “Er… Kaji, I don’t exactly _eat_ spirits – not literally, like one would eat food. It’s more like power absorption.”

The beady black eyes blinked again.

“Ah… that is to say, they don’t have a taste at all.”

At that, his little face crinkled in evident disappointment. “Blech! Where’s the fun in that?”

The Doomguide, even in the depths of her misery, couldn’t help but laugh – a weak chuckle at first, but it soon grew into full-blown laughter. Safiya’s smile widened, too. It was then Rhaine knew that with such friends and companions at her side to distract her from her troubles, she would last much longer than she would have if she were alone.

\------------------------------------------------------

The actors of The Veil had been returned to their theatre as the Witches promised. They were very happy to see Rhaine return, and Magda rewarded her for saving their lives with a special mask that she said Lienna had found long ago – a legendary _Mask of Persuasion_. Rumor had it that these black velvet masks were created by the drow god Vhaeraun to aid his followers in infiltration. No doubt it would prove useful to the Doomguide in situations that called for a more diplomatic approach.

Afterwards, Rhaine inquired after Lienna herself, and she learned that, shortly before the matron had died, she had met with a red-clad woman… a lady who could almost pass as her twin in physical appearance. From Magda’s descriptions of this strange woman – including her bald pate and scarlet robes – she sounded for all the world like a Red Wizard. Naturally, Safiya was greatly intrigued by this information, and she wondered if this woman was from her Academy, as that would sufficiently explain Lienna’s connections with her mother.

The Doomguide also learned that Lienna had been spotted covered in blood a few days before Rhaine had arrived. This, coupled with the memory she had experienced in the Shadow Veil, convinced her that it was indeed Lienna who had taken the shard from her chest… alongside this mysterious aforementioned “red woman.”

Rhaine pressed Magda for more, but the dwarf knew little else to tell her. The dwarf only recalled that she had seen her and Lienna conversing before in a secret room just off of the shadow library. Magda then gave Rhaine the key to this room, hoping that the Doomguide would find her answers there and wishing her well on her quest.

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine was not eager to return to the Plane of Shadow, and a chill racked her spine as she stepped into the Shadow Veil once more. Magda’s key clutched tightly in hand, she followed the dwarf woman’s directions to a locked door on the library’s left wall. Inserting the key and twisting, the door came open with a loud creak that made them each wince and hope some distant foe had not heard it.

Before them was a large room full of portals lining the walls. All of them appeared to be deactivated, however, the stone arches that served as doorways to other places – perhaps even other planes of existence – devoid of any shimmering passageways.

“ _Hmm_ ,” Okku rumbled beside her, his form glowing brightly despite the effects of the plane. “Smell that? There is blood upon the floor here.”

She glanced downwards, and there was indeed a dried blood trail leading to one of the empty portals. Rhaine couldn’t help but think of Lienna and the red woman again, a phantom pain panging in her chest at the memory of them. She was sure they were the ones who had strapped her down and taken the shard from her… but why? And from the description of the woman in red, it truly seemed as though Lienna had been in league with a Thayan wizard, perhaps even from Safiya’s Academy.

What did it all mean?

They continued forward cautiously until they saw a gigantic figure standing in a shadowed alcove, whereupon they halted in their tracks until they realized it was not a foe. It was a clay golem, at least fifteen feet high, its form so old that it was crumbling to dust. It stood, eyeless, looking straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to their presence.

“These portals,” Kaelyn murmured. “Someone went to great lengths to keep them hidden. And they are all sealed. For now. Take care… I sense some were intended to remain that way.”

Rhaine nodded in acknowledgement of the celestial’s warning, carefully approaching the clay golem instead of the archways. “Safiya, can you provide any insight about this creature?”

The wizardess grinned as the Doomguide glanced back at her, nearing the golem herself to examine it more closely. “I can. This golem is likely bound to the portals around the room… tasked with keeping them sealed. Its energy is almost depleted, however, and it seems as if its spirit core is in poor condition. But… perhaps you could use your… _ability_ … to reawaken it somehow?”

The Doomguide frowned, placing a hand on the crumbling clay that seemed utterly lifeless. Even with what Safiya called a “spirit core” inside it, it aroused no hunger at all to be in such close proximity to the golem, so weak were the energies within. She closed her eyes.

If she focused hard enough, she could feel the spirit-eater inside her in full, yet pulsing with the energy it had consumed before. Energy from Nakata. She frowned, reaching deeper with her mind, and it seemed to answer to her prodding, _twisting_ sickeningly in response. Could she call it forth again, but for a different purpose? Could she somehow get that devouring beast imprisoned inside her to release its stolen energy voluntarily?

Thankful her companions remained silent so as not to interrupt her focus, she stepped back a bit and relaxed her mind to the presence, letting it bubble up from that suppressed state. But before it could become too strong, she gave it a mental _push_ , and subtly… _gently_ … coaxed a reversal of energy from herself to the golem. Her eyes remained squeezed tightly shut, and so she did not see what happened, but she _felt_ a thread of power latch onto the golem before her, some of it escaping the beast inside.

“Rhaine, look!”

Safiya’s voice caused the Doomguide’s eyelids to finally snap open again, and she was astonished to see the golem before her rumbling to life with hardly any strength lost on her part.

Perhaps she could control this thing better than she thought…

“Visitors are waiting at the First Door,” the golem spoke flatly, voice cracked and deep.

Rhaine hesitated, steeling herself. “Very well… open the First Door.”

“The seals are withdrawn. The way is opened.”

A noise behind them made them each whirl, hands on their weapons. Stepping through one of the now-open portals were three gargoyles, their eyes glowing bright red even upon the black and white plane.

“We are trapped, my brothers, _snared_!” one of them exclaimed with a hiss as Rhaine moved to investigate.

“Please, do not harm us, good mistress!” Another cowered before her, falling to his knees. “We only did as we were told!”

“Wait, wait, wait, calm down!” The Doomguide held up her hands, glancing between the three creatures. “I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“She doesn’t know?” the third gargoyle rasped incredulously. “Did she ever know? Or perhaps she doesn’t remember…?”

“We were the ones who bore you away from the place of shadows and darkness,” the first explained.

Rhaine’s eyes widened, her mind reeling as she put two and two together. “ _You_ … you carried me from Merdelain?”

“Yes!” the second replied with an emphatic nod of his horned head. “We _saved_ you, good mistress! Saved you whilst your companions were crushed beneath rock and rune. The same would have happened to you, had we not been there!”

“And the three of you brought me here? To this plane?”

“Under orders of our white lady, yes,” the third replied. “We were slaves, only doing her bidding. We knew not what would happen when we brought you to her.”

The Doomguide felt her heart pounding in her throat. “And what exactly happened?”

“She and her red twin… they took the silver blade from your hands and the silver shard from your chest, and they told us to carry you again, to another place that we feared. _Feared_ , didn’t we, my brothers? And we didn’t know what it was that we feared, only that it was _hungry_ … and it did not want us, it wanted _you_.”

Rhaine heard Okku rumble again beside her, while her own mouth fell open in realization.

“Perhaps our lady knew this,” the second observed. “She chose our forms well.”

At that, the Doomguide shook her head back and forth as if to clear it. “So, Lienna and her red-robed friend told you to put me in the Cavern of Runes at the bottom of Okku’s barrow? Why?”

“We do not _know_ , good mistress!” the third gargoyle whined. “We are only slaves, not privy to the reasoning of our lady and her twin.”

“Though we _do_ know who planted the seed that grew into their scheme,” the first added slowly, his rocky mouth spreading into a wicked grin. “But we shall only tell you if you promise not to harm us, and let us go free.”

Rhaine paused for a moment, her lips pressing together as she considered the request, but then ultimately shrugged. “I see no reason to harm you… yet. Go ahead.”

“It was the nine hags,” he replied with a nod. “The Slumbering Coven that dwells in the city buried in the shore of Lake Mulsantir, to the east. The white and red twins visited them, and when they returned, they hatched their plan.”

“That circle of hags is involved?” Gann commented thoughtfully behind her. “That is… strange. I have dreamt of the city beneath the waves. I would like to go with you to this place, Rhaine, if you plan to follow up on this lead.”

“Now that we have told you,” the first gargoyle stepped forward, “let us have Lienna’s body, so that we may ransom it to her red sister for our freedom!”

At that, Rhaine took a breath and shook her head. “I can’t do that… Lienna burned herself to ash.”

“And how are we supposed to exact revenge, then?” the second growled angrily. “We were used, trodden upon… we want to _break_ her shiny masks! Perhaps it is but a lie… perhaps _you_ are a servant of the foul twins as well?” He crouched, then, claws lifted as if to attack the Doomguide.

“Wait! You forget the terms of our deal,” Rhaine interjected, holding her hand aloft even as the other tightened upon _Touch of Death_ ’s hilt. “You told me information… I allowed you to walk free. That is all.”

The third gargoyle held his arm in front of the second to stop him. “She is right. We have worn these evil masks for far too long. We are starting to become them.” He then bowed. “We will go now, good mistress. Fare thee well.”

The Doomguide then watched as the gargoyles turned and promptly departed precisely the way they had come, vanishing through the portal, the archway sealing behind them with a snap.

“Those weren’t mere gargoyles,” Safiya remarked after a moment, voice musing in the ensuing quiet. “Those were people who had been transmuted into beasts. No small feat, that. Lienna had to have known as much magic as her wizard twin.”

“So,” Gannayev added, “that adds another place to our list of destinations. And as long as we continue to gain leads, we’ll be making progress.”

“Myrkul’s Vault, Ashenwood, then the Slumbering Coven,” Kaelyn shifted from one foot to the other. “The only problem is how far apart these locations are.”

“Ashenwood is about seven days to the north,” Safiya remarked, pulling her map from her pack to double-check her calculations. “It will be a seven day return trip, and then three or four more days to Lake Mulsantir on top of that.”

“Hmm,” Okku growled. “That does not bode well for the little one. She will have a hard time suppressing her hunger for that long.”

“The ‘little one’ can handle her hunger on her own,” Rhaine quipped sharply, “and she does not appreciate being talked about as if she isn’t present. Now, if we’re done standing around discussing it, let’s get moving. It is evident we’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and with precious little time to waste throwing guesses at my future condition.”

They followed the Doomguide from the shadow theatre in utter silence after that.


	25. Black, White, and Little Else

With an involuntary shudder, Rhaine once again entered Myrkul’s Vault, despite every warning sounding in her mind and the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. Once within, she glanced in Kaelyn’s direction, and it was then she noticed that the half-celestial’s black eyes were highly reflective, shimmering as they looked around the dimly lit entrance hall. A question formed in her mind at such a sight, but she was hesitant to ask it. Kaelyn’s “purpose” within the Vault still unnerved her a bit, and Rhaine was reluctant to form any sort of personal relationship with her, as exchanging such casual questions often would. Nevertheless, Kaelyn had stood beside her against Okku, defending her and her other companions as promised. So, she was trustworthy at least in that regard, and if she was going to help Rhaine find a cure for her curse, it would behoove the Doomguide to attempt to break down the barriers of mistrust… despite their religious, and perhaps moral, differences.

“Kaelyn, your eyes are very unusual,” she finally remarked, her voice quiet in the empty hall. The half-celestial, blinking a few times before smiling slightly, seemed rather surprised at her statement.

“I noticed that,” Gann added behind her, “they are like mirrors in which I may admire myself without the need for a looking glass.”

At that, Kaelyn’s brow furrowed at him. “I see.”

The hagspawn grinned, tossing his hair out of his eyes with some panache. “I hope you can, with eyes like that. Feel free to study me at length… I am used to such attention.”

Rhaine snorted. “You might want to step back a bit for that, Kaelyn. His ego alone could fill a castle.”

“Such fire to your words! They burn me!” Gann replied, dramatically putting a hand to his armored chest. “Quick! Get the priestess to fan me with her wings.”

“Are you making light of me?” Kaelyn looked even more perplexed at his words, blinking at him, and Rhaine suddenly realized that the half-angel must have been startlingly naïve…

“I would _never_ do such a thing,” Gannayev answered, his tone laced with sarcasm, “although, with eyes like yours, do you even know what light is?”

Kaelyn sighed heavily, shaking her head. “You are strange, Gann-of-Dreams. There is much about your heritage that is evident in your behavior.”

“Hmm,” Gann mused in response, leaning on his spear, “I am curious as to what this ebony-eyed creature of Celestia sees in one such as I. Do go on, priestess.”

“Very well. I see that your feet find dirt and sand uncomfortable,” Kaelyn began slowly, her gaze looking him up and down, “as if you are used to walking in dreams, not on earth. You toss words like a wind around you, in hopes that their flood will deflect questions and prevent you from being seen for what you really are. You are hurt, Gannayev-of-Dreams, and that pain drives you to hurt others, for you have been taught that that is the wheel that turns the world.”

Rhaine raised her eyebrows at that. It was so strange; Kaelyn seemed to be full of contradictions – inexperienced and yet insightful… faithful and yet critical of the gods… a celestial banished to the mortal planes.

Gann, on the other hand, practically squirmed in his own skin, his smile faltering a bit. “Ah… I think your faith may have led you astray, priestess. Your eyes do not see as clearly as I thought they would. But, no matter – no doubt my colors would blind you, even on this bleak plane.”

“Spectra of color are something I know only from text, not experience,” Kaelyn replied. “My eyes do not perceive color as yours do… only black, white, and little else. My grandfather once told me it was something that my faith had chosen, not my heritage. I would not call it blindness, but I see the world a little differently, yes.”

There was a pause, and Rhaine looked around the entrance hall once again, admittedly a bit surprised at the emptiness of the place. After a moment, she asked, “How much do you know about this Vault?”

“Little,” Kaelyn answered with another sigh, turning back towards the obsidian door in the distance. “This place was, as you probably have guessed, chosen for its secrecy. Almost all mention of the Vault was wiped from records on the Prime, if not by the Myrkulites themselves, then by the Cyricists and Kelemvorites who followed. Most of Myrkul’s strength lay here in the latter days of his reign, and it is said there are great treasures hoarded within these walls, both material wealth and knowledge. Enemies of the faith were also imprisoned here. It is rumored that there is a crematorium that was once used for those who had passed on to the City of Judgment… or for those who needed to be silenced.”

An eerie pall hung between them for a moment before Rhaine finally spoke again, “And how far have you explored here?”

Kaelyn shook her head. “Not far at all. Supposedly, undead priests guard the wings of the first level, and I have been reluctant to alert them to my presence. Nevertheless, I believe the key to the lower vaults lies in one of these wings, and we will need it if we are to find the most ancient of Myrkul’s texts.”

The Doomguide nodded grimly, steeling herself and tightening her grip on _Touch of Death_. “All right. Let’s go.”

They proceeded cautiously through the entrance hall, then, at the end of which, once again, stood the inoperable black gate. However, to the left lay an open doorway, almost beckoning to her like some terrible invitation to her doom. Rhaine felt her hackles rise again as she approached it, and her free hand went to her amulet despite its unresponsiveness. There were undead here… powerful and in great numbers.

Entering into a small library beyond, they found it to be empty of everything save ancient remnants of artifacts and books. There was no movement, no sound – nothing.

Suddenly, as if tired of caution, Gann strode forward with an almost idiotic boldness, his voice ringing on the stones. “There is nothing to fear here, see? It’s just the dust and mold of a dead, false faith… one more sign that your gods are nothing more than-”

There was a cacophony of groans, and from tombs, which had been set into the walls behind them, rose three mummified priests – undead who could not be _Turned_. Okku, emitting a threatening growl, positioned himself between the undead and his companions. Kaelyn and Rhaine, both calling upon a _Hammer of the Gods_ to smite the ancient mummies, immediately began their divine invocations. Kaji hid himself in Safiya’s hood as his mistress summoned an animated sword to help even the odds. Even Gann stood slack-jawed for a moment before snapping out of his shock and calling his own water elemental to their aid. At that same moment, the bright bursts of divine light from the two holy casters’ spells slammed into the undead, ripping holes in their decaying forms.

Nevertheless, the mummies cast powerful shields upon themselves, magic shimmering around them. They advanced fearlessly – albeit slowly – noxious dust rising in plumes from their rotting wrappings. As Okku and the summonings distracted the undead in melee, the four casters continued to pummel the mummies with spells, Safiya attempting to strip them of their erected defenses. The companions held their breath as much as possible as they realized that the gases from the mummified priests were a weapon in and of themselves… ridden with disease and life-draining energies.

At last, one of Rhaine’s _Flame Strikes_ managed to pierce a mummy’s magical bubble, and the thing went up like a matchstick, consumed to ash in seconds. At the same time, Safiya finally dispelled the defenses of another, and her animated sword beheaded it in a single swift slash. Okku knocked the third to the ground, and with Kaelyn’s aid, tore its desiccated body apart.

For a moment, they simply stood there, catching their breath. Then, after a few seconds, Gann vomited, the toxic gas of the mummies having finally gotten to him. Rhaine quickly moved over to him and cast a _restoration_ spell, purging his body of the negative energies and eliminating any disease that might have taken root within him. As she did so, Kaelyn saw to Okku’s wounds. The bear spirit, of course, did not bleed, but his form had been distorted and “torn” by the mummies’ powerful blows.

After a few moments, the Bear King cocked his head at Gannayev, his golden eyes glowing brightly in the gloom. “What was that about gods, hagspawn?”

Gann wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but said nothing, his face unusually devoid of any smirk.

Once her comrades were tended to, Rhaine looked around the library, keeping her sword at the ready in case any more of Myrkul’s servants decided to reveal themselves. The Doomguide peered at the bookshelves, which appeared to be covered in sheets of falling water. However, when she reached a hand towards them, the water was a solid barrier – completely impenetrable. The shelves had been magically warded so that none could take the ancient tomes from their final resting places. Sighing in frustration, Rhaine turned around to inform her companions of this fact… and then her eyes narrowed.

“Do you hear that?”

She had thought she heard an odd noise, and when she strained her ears to focus upon it, she found that it was like the sound of dozens of quills scratching away at parchment.

Kaelyn and Safiya both nodded silently, gripping their weapons tight in their hands.

Glancing around, Rhaine noticed that, all along the walls, platforms were set intermittently between the bookshelves. Upon these platforms rested gigantic open books, their text visible but entirely unreadable, and in the center of the room stood a gong.

The Doomguide began walking towards that gong, and the scratching sound grew louder. The _hunger_ twisted within her, and she suddenly realized that spirits were here, invisible amongst them. Following a hunch, she took the mallet beside the gong and struck its brass surface, dust flying from the surface in a great plume upon impact. The sound of it echoed throughout the upper level of the Vault, and a rush of wind blew through the room.

There, scribbling frantically away at each open book around the library, were spirits of the priests of Myrkul, bound to repeatedly scribe his doctrine for all eternity. Beside her, another spirit materialized, and he looked at her with a quizzical expression on his ethereal face. His incorporeal form was still garbed in its ancient robes that marked him as the chief scribe.

“A tale of deception is writ upon your soul, supplicant,” he spoke, his voice a faded whisper. “You are both the deceiver and the deceived. You will not find truth here, but when you see the lies for what they are, you will return to us.”

Rhaine regarded him with a puzzled expression. “I am not sure what you mean, spirit. Can you speak plainly?”

“I cannot,” the scribe replied simply, half-bowing as if in apology. “My eyes have been trained to read words and discard their meaning. So it has always been with us… and so it shall always be. We record, but we do not remember. Our scribblings are our mind and memory.”

“I do not understand,” the Doomguide replied with a slow shake of her head. “Myrkul has long been displaced. Your spirits should have been released to the City of Judgment long ago. Why do you still labor here?”

“Our _words_ bind us, supplicant,” the chief scribe answered gravely. “Our souls were graven upon the walls of this Vault, our names engraved into the very foundation of it. When we were replaced, our names would be erased so that we could pass on to the City of Judgment. But a great betrayal was committed here, and we stood by and watched it happen. We were taken by the traitor’s resolve – by his honeyed words and promises. And when it was all ended, we were held to account for our lack of action. The punishment was simple enough in design. We were no longer replaced. Thus, our names would forever remain upon the stones of our god’s Vault… and so would we.”

Rhaine was silent for a moment, absorbing his words. She was unsure of whether or not to feel sorry for these spirits, eternally trapped here as they were. Myrkul’s servants, like her own High Father Gerard, were not known for their goodness. In fact, Myrkulites were renowned the world over for the atrocities they committed in their god’s name. Yet, these scribes appeared to be innocent bystanders, with their punishment of eternal undeath hardly fitting the crime. Then again, she knew not the degree of the betrayal committed. She could not pass judgment on something of which she knew almost nothing.

“What is stored in this Vault, spirit? Are you allowed to say?” she finally asked.

“All that has been recorded in this scriptorium, you will find in the chambers below,” he answered. “Ancient tomes, prisoners, our greatest treasures…”

“What kind of tomes?”

“Every book concerning our faith. We scribed copies here and sent them below to be archived… and then to be guarded by our mummified remains when our souls departed for the afterlife. _Nothing_ of us was wasted, supplicant. Go there, and you may find even _my_ corpse.”

The Doomguide’s brow furrowed. “How do I get there?”

He paused for a long moment, and then replied at length, “The High Priest held the key. I do not know his fate. It was not recorded in our ledgers.”

At that, Rhaine nodded her understanding, feeling that she should not bother this spirit any further. “Thank you. That is all I wished to know, scribe. Farewell.”

“And to you, supplicant.”

She could feel the spirits’ eyes on her back as she turned and entered a side room, her companions following in silence. Perhaps somewhere they could find the remains of this High Priest, and with them, his key. Though Rhaine did not relish the thought of taking anything from the dead, she knew she needed to access those ancient records. Surely one of those tomes below would have made mention of the origins of the spirit-eater curse, and once she found it, she would never have to trespass in this Vault again.

Unfortunately, all she found in the side chamber was a trio of angry, undead death knights, which took no small effort on all their parts to defeat. One of them bore an iron key, though, and the Doomguide briefly thought that it was the one they needed. Unfortunately, upon returning to the strange black gate, she found that the key required to open the dark portal had to be much bigger than that. The slot was far too large for the small iron key she had obtained.

Then, she noticed something she had not seen before – another door, the same color as the wall, on the opposite side of the entrance hall from the scriptorium. It was _this_ door that the key opened, and Rhaine hesitantly walked into yet another room…

…only for her ears to suddenly be assaulted by high-pitched screaming, like the sound of thousands of ghosts crying out all at once. She clamped her hands to the sides of her head as she stubbornly proceeded further, horrified to find that the room was lined with skeletons… mostly adults, but some those of _children_. They had been laid atop tables, alongside the walls, and all over the floor so thickly that the companions could not avoid stepping on bones as they went, long-dead limbs crumbling to dust beneath the weight of their boots. This summoned three more mummies to rise as defenders, which were swiftly dispatched in the same manner as before. Once they were down, Rhaine quickly crossed this room into another side chamber, which appeared to be a prison of sorts. It was a long corridor with tiny cells running along the right-hand wall. Thankfully, there were no more mummies to hinder their progress further, and she continued on down this hall into one final chamber.

There, at the bottom of a long staircase, was a gargantuan furnace. A multi-armed skeleton had been carved upon its façade, its jaws open in a soundless cry. On either side of the aisle that led to the entrance of this furnace, more skeletons lay in perfect rows. Rhaine’s stomach turned as she slowly descended the staircase and approached the furnace, which seemed to be burning ever brightly even after so many centuries of being left unattended. When she came too near, however, undead rose again to defend the site, the ashen skeletons coming to life with wraiths at their sides.

Once the room finally lay still from spell, blade, and _Turning_ , a strange sound echoed throughout the chamber, and another spirit manifested before her. It appeared to be an old man, garbed like the scribes in the robes of a Myrkulite, but his garments were a little more ornate – the High Priest, perhaps? He seemed perplexed upon seeing Rhaine near the incinerator, but then his expression turned to one of rage.

“Begone! There is little room left in this crowded furnace. I won’t let you throw yourselves into it and crowd it further!”

The Doomguide raised an eyebrow, halting in her tracks. “I have no intention of throwing myself into the furnace.”

The puzzled expression returned. “Why else would you be here, standing before Myrkul’s Furnace? Go now, and find some other warmth!”

At that moment, the spirit of a little boy abruptly manifested to stand beside the Myrkulite, looking up at him curiously. “What is it, Priest? Another supplicant to join with the Many?”

The Priest spirit placed a hand on the child’s shoulder, as if trying to forcibly turn him around, away from Rhaine. “No. It is nothing to concern yourself with, Child. Go back and savor the warmth of the furnace’s flames.”

The spirits bantered back and forth for a while, the Child seemingly insistent that Rhaine join with “the Many,” which she assumed to be more spirits trapped within the furnace. However, the old priest would not allow it, and so the Child reluctantly slunk back into the depths of the supernatural flames. The Priest, wanting nothing more than to see Rhaine and her companions simply walk away, crossed his arms and refused to speak to her further.

Feeling the niggling hunger within her stirring a bit, having gone strangely dormant before now, Rhaine decided to see if she could use it to analyze the furnace further; perhaps she could prod the souls inside with her power to see what else would emerge – or provoke a reaction out of the Priest. Closing her eyes, she called upon her power to simply probe the contents of the furnace, and to her bewilderment, she was able to _sense_ who and what they were. There were souls of all sorts housed within… mostly those of criminals such as murderers, rapists, and petty thieves. But there were innocent souls among them as well.

At that, the Priest’s brow furrowed deeply. “Wait, what are you doing? What are you?”

Her suspicion that this action would make the spirit more compliant was confirmed. “I have been afflicted with the curse of the spirit-eater.”

“I have a vague recollection of something like that, long ago, when I was still High Priest,” he answered thoughtfully. “Myrkul mistrusted me, especially after what Akachi did…”

Heart suddenly galloping in her chest and hoping she was pursuing a viable lead, she inquired, “And what did he do?”

“He was the High Priest before me,” the spirit replied. “He betrayed our god, and he was punished severely. I was chosen in his place, as I was one of the few who were far removed from the situation. But Myrkul still did not trust me fully.”

“How was this Akachi punished?” she asked.

The spirit shook his head. “I do not know. Only, that Myrkul was proud of it – which means it was terrible indeed.”

Rhaine paused before continuing, “And just who is in this furnace?”

“Besides myself? Criminals of faith,” he said simply. “They first rotted in our prison before being thrown into these fires for cremation.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why were you cremated here, then?”

He sighed heavily. “I was one of the final High Priests of Myrkul. After our god was slain by Mystra, the Cyricists attacked this Vault. We had barely managed to seal the lower levels when they burst in. They killed all but me, and then they tortured me in an attempt to find a way past the black gate. When I did not relent, they threw me alive into this furnace.”

“Ilmater have mercy,” Kaelyn murmured behind her.

The Doomguide herself cringed, knowing such actions fit the typical fanatical brutality of the followers of Cyric. “I am sorry. You must have suffered greatly.”

At that moment, she found her hunger had shifted somewhat, its focus on something... _different_. It felt as though she no longer craved the essence of the spirits themselves, but what was _binding_ them to the mortal plane. If she could devour these unnatural tethers, she could set them free… send them to their proper Judgments when she could never have done so before…

“Spirit,” she began hesitantly, “I think I can end your suffering if you so desire. I can send you on to the afterlife.”

Upon hearing those words, the Priest looked utterly abashed, his arms dropping to his sides in astonishment. “You… you can? I had thought it too much to hope for… especially for the High Priest of a dead god. But please, if you can…” he trailed.

She nodded and cleared her thoughts, closing her eyes. “Lost soul, be at peace, and go to the rest that awaits you upon the Fugue.”

Rhaine felt the hunger surge forth at the slightest bidding, but instead of latching onto the spirit, it instead ravenously consumed all the invisible negative energies that bound the spirit to the Plane of Shadow. The Doomguide gasped aloud, her eyes snapping open again as the voracious presence was indeed sated by this action, as if she had actually consumed a spirit just like Nakata, and her perpetual weariness was instantly banished. The Priest spirit himself at last disappeared, leaving the space in front of the furnace startlingly empty.

At once, the Child reappeared, along with many other faint shades alongside him. Those around the child wailed at a deafening pitch.

“I want rest too!”

“Please, release me!”

The Child, however, stepped forward. “Hold your power, strange one. We both have interests that may be satisfied here. You wish to enter the lower levels, while we wish to be freed from our prison to roam the Vault as we please. The key to the lower levels is in this furnace, hidden by the Priest long ago. You may not reach it as long as the flames burn, and they will burn as long as the spirits are trapped here. Let us pass from this furnace in peace, and you may have your key.”

Rhaine’s brow furrowed, her sinking suspicions about the boy having lingered since the moment he had first appeared. She knew what he wanted – knew that the Child was much more than he appeared to be and was not so innocent. His manner of speech alone revealed that much. No doubt he and his “Many” would wreak havoc on the mortal plane if they were allowed to leave their confinement.

Shaking her head, she replied at length. “I’ll gladly release you all… but only by granting you the same eternal rest as the Priest.”

The Doomguide then focused her spirit-eating powers on the whole of the furnace, her hunger ravaging through the negative energies within, and the flames that roared before her were abruptly snuffed out as though they’d never been. But then, two larger spirits manifested in the place of the boy, formless save for cold, icy blue eyes. The Child had been absorbed into one of these spirits, and its voice rang out in a menacing echo, “You should not have done that. The lesser spirits were released, but the greater ones still remain, and we will rebuild the Many… starting with _you_!”

The powerful spirits attacked, but they were no match for the casters’ combined power and Okku’s magical teeth and claws. At last they fell, and Rhaine approached the furnace grate, the iron strangely cold – like ice even beyond the leather of her gauntlets. She pried it loose with ease and carefully sifted through the ancient ashes of the dead for the key that the High Priest had supposedly hidden there. After a few moments, her fingers at last brushed something metallic, but the item she touched was much larger than she had expected. She tugged on it, and when she finally saw what it was that she held in her hands, she nearly fell backwards from sheer shock.

It was a replica of the Sword of Gith.


	26. A Wrathful Touch

Once more, they stood before the black gate.

Rhaine looked up and down the fifteen-foot door, her eyes following the dizzyingly intricate patterns of its surface. It appeared to be crafted of etched obsidian, though sections of other stone such as black shale and marble were also present. Panels of the varied materials fit together seamlessly, creating a brilliantly smooth doorway in the shape of a pointed arch. The only opening was a vertical slot at roughly chest-level. As she continued to examine it, the Doomguide began to see tiny runes that were carved all around the gate’s frame.

“Safiya,” she began, running her hands gently over the etchings. “These runes are familiar to me, but I cannot recall their meaning. Do you know anything about them?”

The Red Wizard stepped beside Rhaine, peering at the divine symbols. “Hmm. They are familiar to me as well, but the meaning is… complicated. I’m tempted to say that they were scribed once and then altered to distort their function. In their original state, they would actually have the power to unmake reality itself. However, the runes appear to be deliberately reversed, rendering them completely inert.”

A puzzle indeed – a deliberate reversal of an incredibly powerful enchantment. Thus, the Doomguide wondered why they had even been scribed in the first place. She did not think for one minute, though, that they were intended to be nothing more than harmless and useless decoration. No, in the Death God’s Vault, there was a point to everything…

It was obvious now that the Sword of Gith replica was meant to be placed in the slot on the door, functioning as the key she needed to proceed further. Hesitantly, she lifted the silver blade and slid it into the vertical opening. With a strange, sickening sound, the blade was abruptly drawn inward into the gate itself, vanishing from sight, and the black door swung open, revealing a steep descent into the Lower Vaults.

They cautiously descended the staircase, then, noticing that the next level was very dimly lit. The companions entered a foyer, off of which sprang corridors leading to other chambers. Two of these hallways were barred by locked doors, but one was open. Moving into the open corridor, Safiya suddenly grabbed Rhaine’s arm and pointed to the right. “There! The sign above that door… that’s the archives.”

The Doomguide eagerly strode forward and tugged on the door, but to no avail. Unfortunately, it too had been locked.

She glanced back. “Kaji? Can you spring this for me?”

“Sure!” The homunculus jumped from Safiya’s shoulder and hovered over to the lock, inserting his tiny hands into the keyhole to manipulate the tumblrs with his fingers. After a few seconds of fiddling, he muttered quietly, “Trapped, too.” Kaji then spent several more minutes feeling around the lock before finally announcing, “All done!”

The door immediately opened, and three more mummified priests waited for them beyond. Kaji zoomed behind Safiya’s shoulder while the others advanced, quickly taking down the undead guardians with their spells now that they knew their weaknesses.

But, to the Doomguide’s dismay – and almost despair – the bookshelves in these archives were warded just like the ones on the upper level, protected by that same water-like barrier.

“ _Hrast_!” Rhaine cursed. “Can’t this be dispelled at all?”

“No,” Kaelyn replied, gently touching one of the barriers. “This is a divine ward, likely put in place at the moment of Myrkul’s death. It has been created by godly words of power, and such words cannot be easily reversed.”

“Rhaine! Over here!” Safiya suddenly called from the right side of the archives.

The Doomguide hurried over and found the wizardess bent over a marble table. There, resting upon the table’s intricately-carved surface, was a single scroll that had escaped the divine warding. It was centuries-old and badly damaged, but some parts of it were still readable. Rhaine squinted at the lettering. The scroll appeared to have been written in the celestial alphabet, but the words were alien to her.

As if reading her mind, Safiya remarked, “Mulhorandi. It’s the same base language as Thayan, only Mulhorandi uses the celestial alphabet, while we use the infernal variant. I could translate this into Common if you like, but it will take some time.”

“Do it,” Rhaine replied simply.

Safiya nodded and promptly sat upon a dust-covered bench, removing the necessary supplies from her bag and beginning her tedious task. As she did so, Kaelyn, Gann, and Rhaine wandered the rest of the archives, hoping to find more than that single scroll to work from. Okku, on the other hand, lay down in front of the doorway, so that if any of Myrkul’s servants were drawn to their voices, he could alert them.

All the while, Rhaine kept noticing that Gann was glancing in her direction quite a lot. Kaelyn followed the Doomguide’s gaze and leaned close, whispering, “He’s been watching you rather intently ever since you put those spirits to eternal rest... more than he would care to admit.”

Puzzled, her brow furrowed. “Why?”

The celestial turned her shining silver pauldron towards Rhaine for her to use as a makeshift mirror. “See for yourself.”

Even in the distortion of the polished plate armor, the Doomguide could see what had happened. By satisfying her spirit hunger, she had restored her complexion to its original lively state and _more_ – her cheeks had filled out again, her hair was fuller and brighter, and her eyes were practically glowing.

“I’m assuming you appear more, shall we say, ‘normal,’ now?” Kaelyn added. “It seems your appearance is directly related to your level of hunger. Also, if we can direct your supernatural appetite more towards the negative energies of undead, rather than the spirits of the living, we can transform what would normally be a foul curse into something far more humane. The only trouble lies in the fact that undead are not going to be commonplace, even in Rashemen. You’ll need to be able to suppress your hunger for long periods of time between such encounters.”

Rhaine was about to reply when Safiya called, “I’m finished!”

They rushed over, Gann putting his hands on his hips. “Well, does it say anything about the curse?”

“Unfortunately, no,” the wizardess replied, “but it does expound upon this Akachi, who may have been a contemporary with the origin of the curse.” She handed her copy to Rhaine. “Here. I took the liberty of removing all of the religious threatening mumbo-jumbo and cut to the chase. I think the scroll was once used for beating the Myrkulite clergy back into submission, so to speak. Read it and you’ll find out why.”

The Doomguide quickly read over the translation. It told the life story of Akachi, who had once been the High Priest of Myrkul at the temple in Mulsantir. He, along with his brother Eveshi, were orphaned and left on the church doorstep… their names given by the resident priesthood. Even as a young lad, Akachi seemed to bear the favor of Myrkul, and when a powerful plague swept through the city, only he and his brother were spared. Thus, just a boy, he was named High Priest. From then on, his life was filled with extraordinary deeds in the name of the Lord of Bones… and Myrkul rewarded him accordingly. The god pulled a silver blade from the Hells and gave it to Akachi, announcing that the young man was now his Chosen.

Akachi was tested in a most severe way, however, when his lover – a wizardess – was killed in a magical accident. She had no love for the gods in life, and he knew she was bound for the Wall of the Faithless upon her death. He begged Myrkul to keep her from the Wall, promising that he would take any punishment upon himself in her stead… but the Lord of Bones would not relent.

Thus, Akachi vowed his revenge upon his own god. He assembled a great host of allies, led by three generals: a demilich named Rammaq, a celestial prince named Zoab, and a dragon queen named Sey’ryu. He also convinced his brother, Eveshi, to march at his side, renouncing his given name and taking another. With his silver sword, Akachi sliced a rift between the planes, forcing himself and his army into the realm of the dead itself. But Myrkul’s forces were far greater, and the god smashed his former Chosen’s army, dragging Akachi the Betrayer to his Judgment in chains.

Blinking, Rhaine handed the scroll back to Safiya for safekeeping. “I wonder why I have not heard this tale before?”

Kaelyn, who had been reading over the Doomguide’s shoulder, answered, “It was suppressed by both clergies that came after Myrkul… presumably to discourage such activity from ever happening again.”

Sighing heavily, Rhaine began walking out of the archives with purpose in her steps. “Well, we might not have found what we were looking for, but we did make some interesting discoveries. Now, if you all don’t mind, I would like to leave this Vault _far_ behind me. We should return to the Prime and secure that boat the Witches mentioned. The Ashenwood awaits us, now.”

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The predicted seven-day journey to Ashenwood was shortened by two days, thanks to the magical speed of the Witchboat. This was a great relief to Rhaine, who was already beginning to suffer the effects of her hunger again. However, interestingly enough, staying close to Okku’s side seemed to have a positive effect on her, as she noticed that her pain was greatly reduced while she was near him… perhaps because she had already resisted devouring the bear spirit once before.

The companions finally arrived at the snow-covered Lake of Tears garrison to find it under attack by treants and shambling mounds – forest and earth spirits, respectively. It appeared as though the Ashenwood was angry in some way, trying to drive the two resident Witches and their small contingent of berserkers from its outskirts. Dalenka, the Witch to whom Sheva had referred the companions, flatly refused to aid Rhaine in finding the Wood Man. However, her acolyte, Nadaj, was more willing to help them, and she filled the Doomguide in on the details of the attacks and the whereabouts of the great forest spirit.

According to Nadaj, the attacks had begun after several strange occurrences. First, an invasion of a telthor sanctuary had taken place on the edges of the Ashenwood. Next, there was a raging forest fire present that could not be quenched by water. And finally, a horrible blight had rapidly consumed another section of the trees. All attempts to contact the Wood Man had failed, and they had already lost several berserkers who tried to appease the angry spirits. Nadaj seemed to think that if these problems were resolved, then perhaps the Wood Man would re-emerge, and the attacks could be stopped at last. Seeing this as the only way to speak with the spirit about her curse, Rhaine offered to help the garrison in their time of need.

It took almost a tenday of wandering the snowy Ashenwood and its surrounding environs, but one by one, the problems were slowly eliminated. First, the Doomguide drove away a tribe of frost giants who had taken over the telthor sanctuary as their own territory. Not only that, but Rhaine also restored the protective spirit of the sanctuary for the telthors’ safety. Second, she removed the blight from the trees by petitioning Chauntea the Earthmother for a cure in nearby Immil Vale, using blighted leaves and burnt cinders as evidence of her need. The last thing she did, then, was put an end to the raging forest fire by destroying the fire elemental that had caused it – not by devouring it, but by pouring pure essence of frost upon it.

When they finally returned to Nadaj with the news, however, the acolyte made a disturbing additional request. She also wanted Rhaine to kill Dalenka, as she claimed her fellow Witch was the cause of the problems of the Ashenwood. When Nadaj was unable to provide sufficient evidence against her superior, Rhaine refused to do her bidding. At that moment, Nadaj turned on the companions and ordered her berserkers to kill them while she ran off into the forest. Rhaine was forced to slay all of the barbarians, who would not disobey their Witch’s order. Afterwards, Dalenka herself confronted the Doomguide, summoned outside by the commotion of battle. It took much to convince the Witch that the slaughter was not Rhaine’s fault – and perhaps a bit of help from her Mask of Persuasion – but Dalenka finally admitted that something had been strange about her acolyte as of late. She urged them all to follow her to where Nadaj had fled.

They found the acolyte, or what was left of her, standing before the oldest tree in the forest… a gigantic glowing ash tree. As it so happened, Nadaj had been possessed by the forest itself, which used her as an instrument to rid itself of its problems, and now the only enemy it perceived was the spirit-eater. With Dalenka’s aid in a pitched battle, the companions managed to destroy the forest’s chosen vessel, and once it was over, Rhaine could only wonder what might happen next…

But as the five of them stood staring at the glowing ash tree, it began to move. The leaves seemed to flutter with the wind, but the companions felt none upon their faces. Then, a tall semi-transparent figure, appearing almost like one of the treants, stepped forth from the tree. Its head was the canopy of a sapling, its body was the trunk, and its feet were a tangle of gnarled roots. A pair of large, gleaming brown eyes stared down at them from just beneath the branches of its leafy top. Curiously, it looked over the group before it… until its eyes rested upon Rhaine, and then it recoiled as if struck by a mighty blow.

Okku lowered his eyes in deference. “It is _him_.”

In response, Rhaine bowed, and the Bear King grumbled his approval. “This one’s moods shift like the winds… even more so than mine. A humble approach is best.”

The Wood Man’s eyes flashed, a deep and slow voice emanating from an opening in the bark of his trunk, “ _Will you always be here when I wake, devourer of souls? Gorge on my life a hundred times, and you will never be sated. Nor will I ever die… not as long as the forest persists_.”

At his words, the Doomguide’s brow furrowed deeply. “You are mistaken, great spirit. I have never been here before.”

“ _The face changes. The hunger remains the same_. _Why did you call me forth if not to feast upon me once again?_ ”

Shaking her head, Rhaine gestured to Nadaj’s now broken corpse. “That parasite that took the Witch’s body for its own… what was it? Was that you?”

“ _No. It was_ _anger. Hatred. The fury of the forest made manifest. Your hunger dispersed_ me _, and the parasite rose in my place_.”

At that, the Doomguide nodded slowly in understanding. “You were too weak to combat it on your own, and so the forest took its revenge upon the Witches and the berserkers.”

The Wood Man paused, squinting at her as if she intrigued him on some level. He stared at her for a long moment, the silence heavy and pervasive, before finally replying, “ _Yes. I was and am too weak_. _Your hunger sensed this and sought me out to feed upon me, though you know not why. You still do not understand what it is that you are. Neither did all those other faces that masked the hunger you now bear. They called it a gift. You think it a curse. It is neither_.”

Rhaine glanced back and forth between her companions and the Wood Man, the former giving her puzzled looks. Just as perplexed as they, she asked, “Then… what is it, exactly?”

“ _It is your_ nature _. Hunger is what you_ are _. You were not always thus, but how your nature changed is unknown to me. Yet…_ ” the spirit paused, as if thinking. “ _I sense a wrathful touch upon your soul – the touch of a god… a god who is dead_.”

The Doomguide gasped in surprise, and she could hear Safiya do the same, neither of them having expected to hear such a thing. So the spirit-eater was not a disease or the lasting spell of some sorcerer or witch… it was the punishment of a _god_. And a dead god at that, of which there were a good number in Faerûnian history.

“But,” she shook her head incredulously, “which one would do this and why?”

“ _An unfamiliar god_ ,” the Wood Man murmured slowly. “ _A stranger to the forest. Chauntea, Mielikki, Lurue… these were the gods I knew in their youth, and their wrath is different in kind_.”

Shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably, she shook her head again as if to clear it. “The Witches mentioned you fought other spirit eaters. What do you remember of them?”

“ _Your hunger has but one face at a time. The face may change, but always there is only one. And then, that face will perish. The hunger devours them… burns them from the inside… and then passes to a new face. The face that stands before me now will also be consumed_.”

Rhaine paused, iciness gripping her heart. Everywhere she turned, imminent death seemed to be a certainty. Still, she had to try to stop it…

“There must be a way to defeat this hunger.”

The Wood Man slowly shook his canopied head, almost as if in pity. “ _You cannot defeat your own nature… to change it and return to what you once were is almost impossible. Burn a forest to ash, and you can only plant anew_.”

She sighed heavily, putting her head in her hands. There _had_ to be a way to reverse this curse somehow. There was always a way to end curses, even if complicated. Already, she had found a loophole by consuming the binding energies of the undead. And she seemed to have found a way to reverse the process with the clay golem as well…

And then, a thought struck her. What if she could do so again with the Wood Man, who had already admitted to having been drained repeatedly by spirit-eaters in the past?

Rhaine looked up at him once again, lips pressed firmly together. “I will not devour you, Wood Man. This, I vow. Instead, allow me to attempt to give a portion of my energy back to you. You have been weakened greatly, and it is the fault of every other spirit-eater who came before me… at least give me a chance to set things right, since I now possess their awful power and can choose to do what I will with it.”

The Wood Man’s eyes flashed again, but this time in genuine interest, not in anger. “ _Such an act would defy the nature of your hunger, and teach it to obey you, perhaps_.”

She nodded and closed her eyes and held her arms outward, steeling herself to harness that divinely-crafted beast that lay within her. Rhaine _prodded_ the hunger within her that snarled and writhed under her skin… _reaching_ greedily for the vulnerable Wood Man just like it had for Okku…

…but her power over her hunger had grown much stronger over the past tenday, with her having successfully suppressed it around a great many telthors and other spirits of the land. With a mere thought, she was able to reverse the spirit-eating process as she had with the clay golem, allowing the energies that the hunger had fed upon before to flow into the Wood Man as the essence of life itself. A tendril of blue light burst from her body and wrapped around the tree spirit, revitalizing it instead of draining it.

Rhaine, too, felt oddly rejuvenated, as if the act had in fact put a damper on her hunger’s ferocity for a time. A sudden swell of courage arose within her at the sensation, and she found that she was grinning uncontrollably.

Almost immediately, the Wood Man began to fade away, leaving nothing but a soft, soothing glow in his wake. “ _Much that was lost is restored. The forest_ breathes _… and its anger fades… to_ silence _. Thank you_.”

And indeed, the forest around them was quieter than it yet had been, the snow-blanketed woods so silent it was almost deafening. Okku gazed up at her with awe in his shining, golden eyes, his presence a comforting warmth at her side. “It seems that your hunger, as terrible as it may be, is _nothing_ compared to your will, little one.”

Smiling, the Doomguide then called to where the tree spirit had stood just moments before, “My predecessors’ debt is paid, Wood Man. Thank you for your wisdom, and may your forest have peace.”

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After Dalenka – who had previously sported a rather rude attitude towards Rhaine and her comrades – thanked them and wished them well on their quest, the companions then began to depart the Ashenwood, kicking up snow as they walked and pulling their cloaks tighter against the frigid wind. They went in silence for a long while before Safiya finally spoke up.

“Well, here I was hoping there would be a more expedient solution to your curse… some potion we could chase after or a Witch I could disintegrate. But if the Wood Man is correct, it seems a dead god is to blame for all your troubles.”

Rhaine did not look back at the wizardess behind her, instead nodding with her gaze on the path ahead. “So it seems. Now, all we have to find out is which one. Kaelyn, do you have any ideas?”

There was a long pause before the celestial answered, “No, I could not venture to say which. Many of the gods are petty… both the living and the dead… and their punishments often outlive them.”

The Doomguide sighed, her breath coming out in a frosty puff. “I don’t understand it… if the god who created this thing is dead then the curse should have died with him… or her. How can a supposedly dead power still strike?”

“A dead god tried to kill you when you escaped his barrow,” Okku rumbled pointedly at her side. “Not all that is dead lies still.”

“Filthy gods and their games,” Gann snorted derisively. “The fact that they _can_ die is proof of their weakness. Even your former ‘god of the dead’ now lies dead. You should have more respect for spirits… they come at _my_ beck and call, and they have no need to guard any afterlife. They are far more powerful than even your ‘god of the dead’ – whichever version of him dances in his graveyard now.”

At that, Rhaine whirled around, eyes flashing as she fought with all her strength to keep from slapping his teeth out at his direct insult to whom he knew well by now was her patron. “How conveniently you forget that even your precious spirits have _gods_ among them! Perhaps you should keep your flippant mouth shut concerning subjects about which you obviously know _nothing_.”

She turned back towards the path, and they all fell silent again, Rhaine resuming her brainstorming, although it was now too fogged by ire to be productive. Perhaps this matter was something to discuss with the Witches, and even Darovik, when they returned to Mulsantir.

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Immil Vale. The companions had been here once before when searching for the cure for the Ashenwood’s blight. It was a small volcanic crater carved into the icy mountains, and as such, it still held the warmth of summer even so far north. Gann had wished to return here to see a local monolith called the Moss Stone, and despite his attitude grating ever more harshly on her nerves with each passing day, Rhaine had agreed to his request. If nothing else, it would be a pleasant place to camp and recover.

According to the spirit shaman, this Moss Stone was both sacred and legendary. Wives’ tales insisted that those who slumbered nearby would experience sharpened dreams with profound meaning. Wishing to experience such dreams for himself, Gann suggested that they wait for night to fall and then sleep beneath the shadow of the ancient stone to see what happened. If anything.

As her companions pitched their tents and waited for sundown, Rhaine took the opportunity to care for her equipment. Sitting cross-legged by a stream, with her armor lying beside her, she rinsed the plates of accumulated blood and grime, piece by piece, and then scrubbed them with sand. After a few minutes, Gann quietly knelt beside her and began filling the companions’ waterskins upstream from her position.

Rhaine glanced over her shoulder at Kaelyn, who sat alone on the far edge of camp. She had felt for the longest time that the half-celestial was not being forthright with her, and it made the Doomguide uneasy. She also wondered if Kaelyn had yet found whatever it was she was looking for in Myrkul’s Vault, or if she would return there to continue her search at some point.

“Our songbird is a mystery, is she not?” Gann remarked, nodding to the priestess in question as he followed the Doomguide’s gaze.

“A bit too much of one, I would say,” Rhaine replied with a sigh, returning to her work. “What are your thoughts, Gann?”

His brow furrowed, and he hesitated for a moment, stoppering a waterskin before answering, “There are those who have ‘lazy’ dreams… visions that appear to them only when their bodies are resting. And then, there are those whose dreams are an icy wind… a whip crack across their souls that visits them during waking hours. I believe she is driven by such a dream, and that makes her dangerous.”

Rhaine went silent for a moment, absorbing his words. In her gut, she felt his observation was correct, as it aligned too closely with her own suspicions. Kaelyn was driven by something powerful indeed, and the Doomguide could only guess at what that something might be. And what her end goal was.

After a few minutes, she shook her head. “And what of Safiya?”

He grinned, chuckling lightly. “She is a thing of puzzle pieces to be certain… and so finely traced with elegant tattoos. Perhaps that is the only good thing that the Red Wizards have contributed to culture.”

Rhaine rolled her eyes at that, but he had already turned away and was heading back towards camp. She merely shook her head again and continued to polish her armor in silence.

When night finally fell, then, the companions prepared for sleep – eager for it after such a long tenday. It did not take long for Rhaine to do so, either, as her muscles were still physically exhausted, even if her spirit cravings and resulting weakness had been tamped down for the time being. Yet, her mind was far too active to relax completely, and her slumber was not at all restful.

Suddenly, amidst this light sleep, her vision swam hazily before her, and she found herself standing in what appeared to be an ancient grove with Gann by her side. Blinking, she ultimately realized that what she was seeing had to be a corner of her own mind; she was dreaming… but her vision was as stark as reality.

“I didn’t expect you to show up in my dreams,” she finally said to the hagspawn, noticing that he somehow looked as tangible as he did in the waking world.

“Dreamwalking is one of my many talents, remember?” he answered with a wink. “But don’t let my presence trouble you. Rather, let us see where this path leads, shall we? I think this dream could be one of importance, and perhaps to you in particular.”

Sighing and shrugging her acquiescence, she tentatively began to walk further into the grove – a forest that looked much like the Ashenwood. Everything was pristine… completely untouched by civilization, as if they had been transported to times before humanity even existed upon the world. Snow glittered blindingly beneath an equally brilliant sun. Frowning, the Doomguide wondered what this forest was supposed to represent, considering so many aspects of vivid dreams were considered symbolic in some manner.

And then, in the distance, she finally glimpsed what appeared to be a woman garbed in red robes, stark against the white snow. Was she the one who had taken the shard from her with Lienna’s aid? Quickening her pace, Rhaine headed straight for the woman in hopes of getting answers, and as she neared, the Doomguide realized the woman looked much like Safiya, but with a few differences here and there. Standing closeby were four warriors – three men and one woman. They started upon seeing Rhaine approach.

“No, stay away from her!”

“You cannot harm our Red Lady! She is our anchor… all we have left.”

The Doomguide halted in her tracks, puzzled by their reactions at first, but something told her that they were kin to her somehow… in some odd way. They felt so familiar…

…and then it clicked.

“You… you were spirit-eaters before me…” she murmured at last.

The female warrior nodded. “Yes. We were bearers of the Gift, as you are. There were more of us once, but now only we remain. The others were taken by the hunger.”

Rhaine then gestured to the red-robed lady behind them. “I need to speak with the Red Woman. She may know something that can help me… help us all.”

“Can she?” one of the men asked, glancing to his fellows. “Can she save us from the hunger? Can she protect our Red Lady?”

“No!” another answered with a snarl, readying his weapon to attack. “We cannot allow it… you will only bring her harm and then we will be _nothing_!”

A heated battle ensued between them, then, Gann fighting by her side, both wielding effective facsimiles of their real weapons. It felt so strange, doing combat inside her head, and yet it was as real as if she were fighting for her life in the waking world. As they fought these replications of ancient spirit-eaters, Rhaine briefly wondered if she could be killed in her own dreams; it was a question that Gann could likely answer later.

Finally, the last of the former spirit-eaters dissipated into nothingness, leaving only the red-robed woman standing in the grove. She approached Rhaine eagerly after that, something oddly-shaped clutched tightly in her palm.

“I had hoped that you would make it here before the hunger took me. I was afraid you would arrive too late.”

The Doomguide’s brow furrowed. “Who are you? You look familiar to me, and I am certain we have met before.”

“I am but a memory – of love, lost but not forgotten,” she replied with a gentle smile, pressing the strange object into Rhaine’s hands. “Here, I saved this for you. It contains all that I am. Please, take it, and know that I will be safe within until you need me.”

Rhaine glanced down at the object. It appeared to be a fragment of jeweled leather, perhaps that of a mask, colored faintly with crimson. Perplexed, she looked back up at the Red Woman. “Wait, when will I need you and why?”

But there was no answer, as the woman was already gone, and with a bright flash of light, the Doomguide was abruptly propelled back into the waking world…

Rhaine jerked awake, sitting straight up on her bedroll and instantly bringing her hand to her face. The bit of leather was still there, real outside of dreams, too. Her look of shock was mirrored by Gann, whose own grey-blue visage was dimly illuminated by the moonlight.

“That is curious indeed,” he breathed quietly, so as not to disturb the others. “An item that can exist both in dream and reality. You should take care not to lose that; I have a feeling it is most important. Now, aren’t you glad you listened to me and tried this out?” he added with another wink.

The Doomguide did not answer, turning the mask fragment over and over in her hands, squinting at it as if to see _into_ it somehow. She needed to find out who this Red Woman was – and her significance – soon.


	27. Well of Memories

“I am _sorry_ , Rhaine… sorry we did not trust you… sorry that we thought you would be just like the others who had gone before you.”

They had returned to Mulsantir by way of the Witchboat, and afterwards they had gone straight to the Wychlaran with their findings. There, Rhaine told Sheva everything – how she saved the forest, healed the Wood Man, and rescued Dalenka from Nadaj’s betrayal. The Witches knew her tale to be true, as word had spread like wildfire amongst the telthors and had reached the ears of the Wychlaran long before the companions ever stepped onto the docks of the city.

“I…” Kazimika hesitated, her eyes darting away behind her mask. “I am sorry, too. I spoke awful words to you, when I truly knew nothing about you. You saved the Wood Man and our sister. For that, we thank you.”

The Doomguide took a breath, and then let it out as a long sigh. “I forgive you… _both_ of you.”

“You also did not find the answers you sought,” Sheva continued with an apologetic shake of her head. “We steered you wrong, and in doing so, we failed you.”

At that, Rhaine paused, considering her words. “I might not have found what I had hoped to, but I _did_ learn a few more things that may be of help. The journey was not for naught, I assure you.”

The eldest Witch inclined her head respectfully. “In any case, we shall pray that the spirits continue to guide you on your path. If any spirit-eater is deserving of a cure for their curse, you certainly are.”

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After they left the outdoor temple of the Wychlaran, Rhaine told her companions to meet her later at the Sloop, urging them to eat something other than road rations and put their feet up for a while. The Doomguide had some business with Darovik that she preferred to handle on her own, without an audience. The quartet seemed a tad reluctant to leave her side, but they ultimately did as she bade, making their way back to the tavern for food and drink. As they did so, Rhaine herself made a beeline for the small temple of Kelemvor.

Once she entered the cool temple at last, she leaned against the wall for a moment, head bent, allowing a few prayers to flow from her lips; her amulet may have been silent, the soothing aura of Kelemvor’s sanctuary distant, but she would not allow herself to cease those prayers of thanks, that hope for guidance.

Though the subtle twist of the dark _presence_ within her did its best to corrupt those prayers with a sharp reminder of her affliction…

Before long, Brother Darovik appeared from the opposite end of the nave, and he smiled at her upon sighting her near the doorway.

“Welcome back to our house, young sister,” he greeted her warmly, grey eyes sparkling in the low candlelight. “It is good to see that you have yet to succumb to your terrible curse. Have you been successful in your endeavors to find a cure?”

She shook her head proceeding further inside. “I have found out little, and it seems the more I find out, the more of a mystery it becomes. According to the Wood Man, this curse is the punishment of a dead god.”

The priest’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “It is? All this time, we had thought it some sort of work of sorcery, or even a disease. But you say a god created it as a _punishment_? That is… most disturbing.”

“Do you know which god might have created this monster?” Rhaine inquired, hoping he would have a better idea than she. As an older member of the priesthood, perhaps he had been exposed to more lore than she…

Darovik’s brow furrowed as he thought for a moment, and then he finally shook his hooded head. “There are numerous dead gods, and many of them were known for unspeakable acts of cruelty. If the ancient forest spirit cannot say which, then I am afraid I cannot, either. I am sorry I am unable to be of further assistance in this matter.”

The Doomguide sighed, closing her eyes in resignation. Once again, it seemed that her answers lay outside Mulsantir’s walls. Darovik didn’t know any more about the curse, and neither did the Witches. It seemed that the only option they had left was to visit this so-called “Slumbering Coven”… and after so many days of traveling non-stop, she was not eager to return to the road again.

In the quiet that followed, Rhaine slowly meandered to the altar and stood before it, staring at the holy symbol upon the wall for the longest time. She knew that Darovik lingered in respectful silence behind her, allowing her this moment of contemplation. After a few breaths, however, she spoke again.

“I have a confession to make, brother.”

A couple more moments of silence followed, and then the priest replied gently, “What is it that troubles your soul, child?”

She looked down at her feet, regret bubbling to the surface of her mind. “I trespassed in the holy halls of Myrkul’s Vault – not once, but twice. I even broke into the Lower Vault and its archives.”

“You were seeking answers _there_ , of all places?” the priest questioned softly, a hint of incredulousness in his voice. “Why?”

“Because I’m _dying_ , Darovik, and I’m running out of options,” she answered tersely, perhaps moreso than she had intended. “If it helps at all, I laid countless undead to eternal rest in those halls.”

He paused before remarking sternly, “I commend you for the effort, sister, but I must remind you that a faithful deed does not counteract a trespass.” Then, letting out a long breath through his nose, he added, “Still, did you happen to learn anything useful?”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head, still not looking at him. “But I did find a loose scroll that told the story of Akachi the Betrayer.”

“Ah,” he murmured knowingly. “That is a tale we of Mulsantir know well.”

At that, she finally turned around to face him again. “Did he really lead an army against the City of Judgment?”

“By all accounts, yes,” Darovik replied, leaning against the back wall and crossing his arms. “But it wasn’t just that. Akachi had commanded his army to tear down the Wall of the Faithless in particular. Thankfully, he did not succeed.”

Rhaine considered this for a moment. “Would it have mattered even if he had? I’m sure Myrkul could have come up with some other equally torturous method for dealing with the Faithless.”

“No doubt the Lord of Bones could have,” Darovik chuckled slightly before turning serious once more. “But yes. It did matter. You see, the Wall – however foul it may be – is a representation of the pact between mortals and gods. The deities are fed by faith. We fuel their existence. In return, they guide us in life and give us solace in death. It is an ancient pact held in place by ancient laws.

“You have no doubt seen the sculpture that rings this temple. It is a replica of the Wall. The Witches would have us dismantle it as it frightens the children, but they do not understand. That very act would be symbolic of destroying the _real_ Wall. Such an act would _crack_ the very foundations of the universe… and bring down a wrath from _all_ the gods the likes of which we have never seen before. That is why I say that it is good that the First Crusade failed.”

“‘First’ Crusade?” the Doomguide’s brow furrowed. “There was more than one?”

“Oh, yes,” Darovik affirmed with a slow nod. “A Second Crusade was launched against our own lord in the not-so-distant past. Suffice it to say, it too, was smashed. Rather swiftly, in fact.”

“Who led the Second, then?”

A cloud shadowed the priest’s face under his hood, and his eyes hardened considerably, nearly flashing in the light of the candles. “I’m surprised you don’t know that yet. The leader of the Second Crusade was Kaelyn the Dove.”

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That night, Rhaine pulled Kaelyn aside to speak with her privately. If Kaelyn had indeed led the Second Crusade against the Wall of the Faithless, then the Doomguide wanted to know why. It was no small wonder that the half-angel had been exiled from Mount Celestia… and this revelation regarding her past had cast a dark shadow over her personal quest in Myrkul’s Vault.

“Is there something you require?” Kaelyn asked, certainly not expecting the question that Rhaine was about to drop right on top of her head.

“Not exactly,” the Doomguide replied, lowering her voice even as she crossed her arms. “Just an explanation. Why did you lead the Second Crusade against the Wall of the Faithless?”

Kaelyn’s black eyes went wide momentarily before she finally answered with brow deeply furrowed, “Darovik told you, didn’t he? I’m assuming he informed you of that fact with no small amount of venom attached to his words. Yes, I led the Second Crusade, and I am not ashamed of it.”

She took a breath and then sighed, glancing away briefly. “It is difficult to express the why of it, but I shall try. Once, I was a Doomguide like you. As all of us are commanded to do, I wandered the planes and comforted the dying. And for a time, it comforted me as well.

“But then, I realized that many of those whom I offered comfort in their last moments would not continue to receive such in death. How could I console a dying child, knowing that they would be mortared… _crushed_ … into a screaming wall for all eternity? How could I lay a midwife of the planes – who has never even heard of such a thing as gods – to rest, knowing that she would be forever punished for her ignorance?”

She shook her head. “Is lip service to a god all that matters? It certainly seems such. For no matter how good a person is in their life, if they do not ally themselves with one of the higher powers, then they suffer eternally. I could not stand for that… and so I gathered those who with similar sentiments to mine and I marched with them to the City of Judgment and cried out for true justice. But Kelemvor is just like Myrkul before him… set in his ways… and he did not listen.”

“And you are surprised?” Rhaine snorted incredulously. “Trying to intimidate Kelemvor with mob tactics might not have been the best idea.”

“Violence was not my intent,” Kaelyn replied shortly. “It was never my weapon while I was in his service, and it is not now. I had only hoped that if he witnessed the conviction of those around me, he would see reason.”

“Says the ‘Dove’ who had an _army_ ready at her back,” the Doomguide quipped.

“I wanted to bring down the Wall, not assault the City of Judgment!”

“That _is_ an assault on the City of Judgment!” Rhaine shouted. “That _is_ violence! You tried to follow Akachi’s example and you failed just as he did. And you wonder why Kelemvor turned his back on you?”

“Akachi’s actions were heroic!” Kaelyn retorted. “He would not stand for injustice, even if it came from his own god – a god he had served all of his life. I am of the same mind, which was why I changed my devotion to that of Ilmater. And even if the Second Crusade failed, I will _not_ give up. The atrocity of the Wall _must_ be ended, if not by the gods, then by mortals. Every soul is deserving of eternal peace.”

The Doomguide struck her armored fist against the wall of the Sloop, her knuckles threatening to punch straight through the rotting wood. “ _Don’t you get it?!_ By worshipping _any_ god you support the existence of the Wall of the Faithless! You aren’t just standing against Kelemvor, you’re standing against the entirety of the pantheons of Faerûn! Of all Toril! You’re a hypocrite, ‘Dove’!”

Pointing an accusatory finger at the half-celestial, Rhaine continued unleashing her fury and disgust in full. “You switched faiths because you feared Kelemvor’s wrath! You knew that if you stood against him as one of his Doomguides that you would be judged False upon death and punished accordingly. _Knowing_ that faith was the primary criteria for the Judgment of souls, you switched your loyalty to that of Ilmater, in hopes of thereby absolving you of punishment upon your death… because you would likely be judged Faithful of Ilmater before your deeds ever came into account!”

Kaelyn’s face hardened. “If you are trying to provoke me, you will not succeed.”

“I am not trying to ‘provoke’ you,” Rhaine lowered her voice again, taking deep breaths to calm herself. “I am _trying_ to make you see reason! History is meant to be learned from. Akachi failed. _You_ failed. There are things in this universe that cannot be changed – no matter how much we want them to. There will always be evil; there will always be injustice.

“And even more than that, have you considered the fact that Kelemvor might… just _might_ … know more about this situation than you do? The Wall of the Faithless is not something so simple that it can be deconstructed, and suddenly, everything is the shining glory of Mount Celestia for all eternity! There are _laws_ , Kaelyn,” Rhaine hissed, “laws that even the gods themselves must follow – even if we mortals cannot comprehend the reason why.”

“You will not deter me from my path,” Kaelyn said simply, spinning away and heading towards her room.

But Rhaine called after her, “Tell me, did you find what you were looking for in Myrkul’s Vault?”

The celestial stopped in her tracks and half-turned back. “No. I did not. So you can go back to sticking your head in the sand like others of _your_ faith and rest easy.”

“Fine,” Rhaine threw her hands into the air in sheer frustration, “throw away your life – as well as the lives of those who follow you. Be the martyr you _so_ want to be.” Her eyes then narrowed, and her tone darkened. “But do not _ever_ attempt to drag _me_ into your foolish fight, or I promise you… you will meet failure much, much faster than you did the last time.”

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The next morning, as they were preparing to leave for the Slumbering Coven, Rhaine was approached by a small girl who called herself Ku’arra. She said that her “grandsire,” a leader of the Hill Tribe, wished to speak with the Doomguide about her curse, and directed her to a place known as the Wells of Lurue. Ku’arra could not stay to explain, citing that she was in danger in Mulsantir. After discussing the option with her companions, Rhaine decided to take this detour and see what the Hill Tribe had to say.

It was a two-day walk to the Wells – a small system of canyons and waterfalls in the hills northwest of Mulsantir. As they arrived in this majestically beautiful place, Okku bristled and sniffed the air, his golden eyes wide.

“My kin,” he rumbled, a note of awe in his voice. “I hear the calls of my kin! They are here, and I had thought them lost! They never joined me in my barrow, and I do not remember why.”

Rhaine placed a hand on Okku’s shining back, a pulse of energy answering her touch. “A change has come over you, my friend,” she said, looking around. Despite the beauty of the Wells, Rhaine felt the hairs standing up on the back of her neck, and she could not ignore it. “We should investigate, but we should also be cautious. Something is not as it seems here.”

“Agreed,” the bear spirit growled lowly, hackles rising.

It was not long before they came upon Ku’arra again, and the girl led them through the winding canyons to a very small, primitive camp. There, they at last met with her “grandsire,” who spoke of the spirit-eater as if it were a blessing, not a curse. He admonished Rhaine for not indulging in her abilities any more than she did, and called her a “betrayer of the Gift.” With that, he dispelled an illusion that made the tribe appear human, and the people revealed themselves to be man-eating, ape-formed Uthraki – evil, monstrous shapeshifters Safiya recognized on sight. The Uthraki then boldly attacked, knowing that if they killed Rhaine, the “Gift” would pass on to one of them – whom they believed more worthy of wielding such awful power. In response, the Doomguide and her comrades mercilessly slew every last one of the cannibalistic monsters and, hopefully, saved some unsuspecting future travelers in the process.

The companions then began wandering the Wells further, searching for what Okku believed to be his lost clan members. Every once in a while, the great bear would pause and sniff the air or listen intently to calls that only he could hear. He led them on for what seemed like hours, until finally they came upon a series of waterfalls that spilled over the cliffs into crystal clear pools. As they approached, then, a host of shimmering spirit bears suddenly manifested all around them – Okku’s ancestors. Rhaine swallowed hard, gritting her teeth as she forcibly ignored the greedy _writhing_ of the hunger within her, pushing it back with her will before it could rear its ugly head in any capacity.

Unfortunately, it was not a happy reunion. These bear spirits were furious at Okku, as the Bear King’s oath to the spirit-eater had apparently brought ruin to their clan. By allowing the monstrosity to be trapped within his barrow, his progeny had become mad, and his clan was eventually destroyed. The ancestors were eager to punish Okku for his transgression, but Rhaine intervened, unwilling to allow it. She confronted them, then, asking them if they would have let the spirit-eater continue to roam the land unchecked instead, and they quickly realized that they would not. To her great relief, the bear telthors dissipated in peace afterwards, though not without telling Okku that despite his noble goal, he had still lost his clan, and thus, his ancestors would be forever lost to him as well.

Despite such a solemn parting between the spirits, though, there was, perhaps, a silver lining to it all. Okku’s memories, sharpened by the mystical waters of the Wells of Lurue, had returned in full. He then explained to Rhaine that the spirit-eater before her was a wizard. When the old man had spared Okku’s life, he shared his plan to defeat the curse. He would need a place secluded from civilization, and there the old man would craft a trap so that the curse could no longer pass from one victim to the next. Okku had agreed for his barrow to become that spirit-eater’s prison. There, the old man scribed the runes that Rhaine had seen when she first awoke there… and the skeleton that lay beside her had been _his_ bones, where he had slowly been eaten away by the hunger until there was nothing left of him. His noble sacrifice had not been in vain, however, as the curse had indeed become trapped within the circle of runic pillars.

But his efforts were rendered utterly null when the three gargoyles, on the command of Lienna and the mysterious Red Woman, had placed Rhaine within the chamber, wounded and vulnerable to the dark hunger. And thus, the awful cycle of the spirit-eater had been reawakened once more.

After Okku finished his tale, the Doomguide stood quietly beside the Wells and watched the waterfalls, lost in thought, her eyes tracing the ripples as they spread across the surface of the pools below. She was awestruck at the crystalline beauty of it all. And somehow, it seemed more than mere water…

“This place is an anchor for dreams and memories,” Gannayev remarked, breaking her out of her thoughts. “Animals and spirits once flocked here, and though they are long gone, their thoughts and visions remain.”

“Can these memories be seen?” Rhaine inquired, wondering if there was more she could glean from them.

“If you drink from the pools, yes,” he replied, “though they may be little more than a flurry of emotions… animals do not think in the same ways that we humanoids do. Their thoughts are more raw and impulsive. But go ahead, if you wish. I can stand with you and help filter out the unnecessary details.”

The Doomguide nodded and knelt at the edge of the largest pool, removing her gauntlets. Then, carefully cupping her hands in the cool waters, she tentatively sipped from it. It was startlingly refreshing, and she was very suddenly consumed with the overwhelming desire to lie down and rest. The last thing she thought of was the softness of the grass beneath her, before darkness overtook her vision.

A few moments later, Rhaine “woke” in what appeared to be Okku’s barrow, Gann once again at her side. But the barrow seemed different this time around… almost as if it had just been created. Ahead of her stood an old man, his hair and beard snowy white. And he wore the robes of a wizard.

“Rhaine!” he called out to her, his voice echoing on the walls. “There you are! I was hoping you would come before the hunger took me. I feared you would come too late. Please, follow me and quickly… I have saved something for you, but the Faceless Man could be right on your heels!”

“Faceless Man?” she inquired, glancing warily over her shoulder.

“He is the embodiment your hunger. He swallows memories and dreams,” the old man explained quickly. “Now, hurry!”

“I think we should follow,” Gann urged.

Wordlessly, Rhaine nodded and jogged after the old man, who teleported in short distances ahead of her to lead her deeper into the barrow. At last, they stopped before what seemed to be the chamber in which she had awakened… prior to when it had been inscribed with runes.

“There, do you see him?” the old man pointed into the darkness ahead.

She squinted. There was a pale-faced boy child standing in the middle of the empty dais, appearing to be waiting on someone. He occasionally looked around and patted his foot, but he continued to stand there patiently.

“Who is he?” Rhaine asked.

“A memory, like I am,” the old man replied. “Part of a larger whole. Go, speak with him.”

The Doomguide hesitated, but then descended the stone ramp to the dais, only to be confronted by a pair of shadows and what looked like a Reaver, who manifested between her and the boy. With Gann’s aid, she took them down quickly before carefully approaching the child. Strangely, he seemed entirely unfazed by the combat that had just taken place.

“Hello there,” she began tentatively.

The child looked up at her, smiling slightly. “Hello. I was wondering when you would make it here.”

Rhaine’s brow furrowed, then, as she cocked her head curiously. “And who are you?”

He grinned widely. “My name is Eveshi, but my brother calls me Ahrraman.”

_Eveshi. The name of Akachi’s brother…_

“Ahrraman,” the old man hummed in amusement behind her. “The old Mulan word for ‘laughter.’”

“My brother tells me that I laugh enough for the both of us. He says that I’ll never make a good priest if I don’t stop giggling during services,” the boy added with an answering chuckle of his own.

“Ahrraman,” Rhaine breathed, realization suddenly washing over her. “ _Araman_. The name of the man who usurped Safiya’s academy…”

“Here,” the boy said suddenly, extending what appeared to be another strangely-shaped piece of bejeweled leather towards her. “This is for you.”

“Another mask fragment to join the first,” Gann commented. “This is becoming intriguing, indeed.”

As she took it from him, then, the boy looked at her with strange wisdom in his ghostly pale eyes. “We are what we _remember_ … nothing is gone while the pieces remain.”

The old man began speaking again, faster this time, but she couldn’t hear him, as she was being abruptly propelled from the dream-vision and back into reality.


	28. Coveya Kurg'annis

Four days later, they arrived at the shores of Lake Mulsantir. The long golden grass at last gave way to sandy dunes, and the sparse maples transitioned to shady palms. The lake itself was large enough that the opposite shore could not be seen beyond the morning mist, and from the middle of this vast body of water rose a magnificent dome and several broken spires – the Sunken City itself. According to Safiya, this place had once been a stronghold of the mighty Imaskari Empire. Now, eons later, it served as the home of the Slumbering Coven.

The Coven, also known as Coveya Kurg’annis in the hags’ tongue, had taken residence here to do business of sorts. The nine hags somehow managed to weave their minds together, and as all hags were capable of doing, they created their own massive – and permanent – dreamscape. From this dreamscape, they roamed the minds of the people of Rashemen, stealing dreams and memories for themselves, and amassing a vast collection of knowledge. Thus, due to the lack of written records in this land, the Coven had become one of the most valuable sources of information in the east, and they offered to share their knowledge with petitioners in return for a portion of that supplicant’s dreams to add to their ever-growing collection.

It was here that they hoped to find out why Lienna and the Red Woman placed Rhaine in the barrow with the trapped spirit-eater. The Doomguide was not the only one ready for answers. Gannayev himself was practically shaking with anticipation. Apparently, he had dreamed of this place often, and he felt that it was somehow his original home… though he remembered little about it from reality.

Unfortunately, there was no way to approach the city during the day. The pier that stretched towards the dome of the submerged structure had long rotted away, and the tentacles of a vast sea monster occasionally rose from the waves in a threatening manner, keeping anyone with half a sense from trying to cross in a boat. When night fell, however, a shadow portal opened before them, and they stepped through to a Shadow Plane mirror of the lakeshore, where the pier was still intact. As they carefully crossed the wooden bridge that spanned jet black waters, the companions found the place to be guarded by many hagspawn – similar to Gann in heritage, but all of them far uglier in appearance; they looked more like deformed apes than half-humans. These servants promptly informed Rhaine that the Coven was not seeing visitors, even though a massive line of petitioners had gathered both within and without the ruin. When she insisted that she needed to see the hags, the guards stated that if she could thin the ranks of those waiting outside, they would let her into the building proper.

After much persuasion on Rhaine’s part, and even a little violence in the case of a group of foul Uthraki, the Doomguide convinced over half of the petitioners outside to leave. Surprised at her success, the door guards allowed her and her companions inside, with a parting warning that there was still a line, and if she wanted to get any further, she would have to force her way to the front.

It was not a difficult thing to accomplish. All of the petitioners were just as foul as the hags they were going to see – from ogres, to more Uthraki, to a group of ancient vampires. Persuasion was, of course, entirely out of the question this time… _everyone_ died. At last, then, once the other visitors were dealt with, they confronted “Mistress,” the hag responsible for admitting visitors to the Coven. But they were met by another roadblock… and a rather unexpected one, at that.

Knowing that Rhaine was a spirit-eater, and thinking that the Doomguide had forced Okku into subservience, the hag immediately cast a spell to protect the Coven from her awful power. Before the companions could even react, Rhaine felt the telltale lurch in her stomach signaling she was being teleported somewhere else…

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“Sleeeeep… sleeeeeeeep… _SLEEEEEEEEEEEP!_ ”

That was the first thing she heard.

The first thing she _saw_ was that she and her companions had been dumped into some kind of waterlogged dungeon. Between earsplitting bouts of the screaming female voice, Safiya explained that this was the “Skein” – the sunken part of the ancient Imaskari city. Now, the only thing they had to do was find a way out… and try to maintain their sanity amidst bouts of echoing screeches.

“When they come, kill each one… when they die, stack ‘em high… when I’m through, _EAT THEM TOO! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!_ ”

They suffered this for _hours_.

In addition to fighting other crazed prisoners, dealing with the damp, the dark, and the cold, and trying desperately to ignore the insane cackling that echoed deafeningly around the Skein, Rhaine’s spirit hunger was progressively worsening. Thus, after roughly eight hours of wandering the place, she vowed to kill the source of that incessant screeching, which Gann seemed to think was an insane hag who had been exiled long ago.

Everywhere they went, passages were either barred or flooded, forcing them to backtrack, and the situation began to seem truly hopeless until they came across quite the find: a gigantic, bound earth elemental – a mound of living rock roughly fifty feet high and forty feet wide. Safiya seemed to think that its power was what was keeping the place from sinking further into the waters below, and there was no telling what would happen if the elemental was released from its binds. It could have no effect at all, but it could also bring the whole place down around their ears.

Being faced with no other option, Rhaine released the elemental by pulling an odd lever on a nearby control panel. The elemental was destroyed, and as Safiya predicted, the Sunken City began to quake. Thinking that this might have unblocked some of the passages, the Doomguide dashed through the corridors, looking for places that had been previously barred to her. At last, they came across a central chamber that had not been accessible before…

… and they found the source of the screaming. It was indeed a hag – a Night Hag to be specific – and she immediately attacked the invaders. But, after a few moments of battle, she ceased fighting them, and she suddenly sounded quite sane as she appealed to them to cease their assault. The hag claimed that the violence had temporarily shaken the madness from her mind, and she then dropped a startling revelation before it could overtake her again.

She was Gann’s mother.

Gannayev immediately pelted the hag, named Gulk’aush, with accusations. He charged her with abandoning him to the wilds and refusing to love and care for him like a mother should. Gulk’aush retorted that she had little choice in the matter, and she requested the chance to explain herself. Gann reluctantly allowed it, as he wanted to hear what sort of excuse the hag would come up with.

Gulk’aush then explained that a hag’s main method of procreation was to use illusionary magic to seduce a human man, mate with him, and then devour him alive. However, the love for her chosen mate went beyond just pretense… it was actual _love_. She could not bring herself to kill her mate, and so she hid her relationship from her sisters. She claimed she was just playing with her prey, and she even went so far as to present a fake body to the Coven in order to buy more time.

However, her ruse did not last long. When Gann was finally born, the Coven found them, bound both her and her lover, and forced Gulk’aush to eat her mate alive by cutting him up and shoving him down her throat – right in front of their child. They then tossed Gann to the wilds and imprisoned the hag in the Skein, cursing her to never sleep again.

For this, Gulk’aush wanted revenge. She asked Gann to destroy the Coven – to finally show them the combined power of a mother and her son. And then, without hesitation, she plucked out her own eye to give to Rhaine, so that the Doomguide could use its magic to help him penetrate the magical dream of her sleeping sisters. With that, she ran off the way the adventurers had come, the madness of the hag’s imprisonment quickly taking over her mind again. Gann himself was stunned for several moments, forced to rethink everything he believed about his mother, before finally following Rhaine through the chamber and up a winding staircase to the Coven.

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“Mistress,” of course, objected to their return, and the companions were forced to kill her and her hagspawn guards to proceed. At last, though, the Slumbering Coven was before them, the nine hags vertically suspended within columns of warding magic and sleeping with their heads bowed and their hands crossed atop their chests. Rhaine and Gann approached them carefully, and with the help of Gulk’aush’s eye, they mentally penetrated the Coven’s dream…

… only to find themselves in what seemed to be the backstage area of the Veil, with Magda rushing up to them. She admonished Rhaine, “You’re late! Hurry, the play has already started!”

The Doomguide exchanged glances with Gann, who shrugged, “Err… what play?”

Magda put her hands on her hips and shook her head in dismay. “You mean you’ve already forgotten? The play about the First Crusade! You’re playing Akachi the Betrayer, remember?”

Rhaine felt her stomach lurch. Why was this First Crusade continuously haunting her? Gann seemed to sense her uneasiness, and he nudged her in the ribs, jerking his head toward Magda.

She took a deep breath. “Um… right, yes I seem to have forgotten about that part. Where are we in the play, now?”

Magda took Rhaine by the hand and led her to the door that opened onto the stage. “The army has been defeated by Myrkul, and he is close on your heels. You must give your final commands to your generals. Take care what you say… this is what you will be remembered for.” The dwarf woman then opened the door and shoved Rhaine out onto the stage. “Break a leg!”

The Doomguide stumbled out onto the small stage, eyes wide. There, three actors of the Veil stood garbed in fantastical costume. Ahead of her, Sweet Wallace was garbed as an angel in flowing robes and sporting startlingly realistic wings. To Rhaine’s left was Amber Rose, dressed all in blue and wearing a fearsome azure headdress. To her right was Lothario, arrayed completely in black and wearing a skull-like mask. The threesome turned to face her as she approached.

Amber spoke first, “I am Sey’ryu, queen of the vast skies. For the debt I owe you, I swore to tear down the Wall.”

“And I am Rammaq,” Lothario added. “I who have thrice glimpsed godhood, and thrice has that prize been snatched from my grasp. For the knowledge I was promised, I swore to tear down the Wall.”

“And I,” Wallace finished, “am Zoab, solar of Celestia. For mercy and justice, I swore to tear down the Wall. We are your generals, and we await your final command, great Akachi. What would you have us do?”

Rhaine swallowed, scrambling for an answer that would suffice. “Ah… Command what remains of our troops to retreat, so that we may live to fight another day. The god of death can wait.”

Suddenly, there was an uproar from the audience – a cacophony of boos and jeers. The Doomguide had just now noticed that there were indeed spectators, but they were comprised of monsters… giants, werewolves, succubi, erinyes, genies…

_What in the Hells…?_

“Boo!”

“We want our money back!”

“The actress doesn’t know her lines!”

Magda hissed from backstage, “Come on, lass. Get it right!”

Wincing, Rhaine waved her hand at the actors. “Ignore that last order. We stand and fight to the last!”

The audience booed again. Magda clucked her tongue and shook her head in disappointment. “Tsk, tsk. Wrong again. Perhaps we’ll just skip to the punishment part. All you’ll need to know then is how to _scream_.”

With that, the dwarf woman and the audience both launched themselves at Rhaine, knocking her to the floor. The three actors made no move to help her, but Gann jumped from behind the backstage area and skewered dream-Magda through the torso with his spear. Rhaine rolled to the side and drew _Touch of Death_ in one fluid movement, jumping back to her feet and joining the fray alongside the dreamwalker.

Together, then, Gann and Rhaine defeated the “audience,” a pile of monstrous corpses now at their feet. Sweet Wallace met the Doomguide’s eyes, his voice taking on an eerie tone, “We will wait for you at the second opening of the Gate.”

“As we promised,” Amber Rose added.

“ _Betrayer_ ,” Lothario finished.

The threesome then vanished in a bright flash of light. Rhaine stood there, struggling to comprehend what exactly had just occurred and why. Gann seemed to be doing the same thing, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. Then, finally, he gestured to the doors of the theatre where a portal had opened. “There. That is where we should go next. This particular dream has run its course… and there was much truth in it, I think.”

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On the other side of the portal, another dreamscape waited. This time, it looked to be the interior of Myrkul’s Vault, but she had not seen this particular room before. It was enormous, and at the opposite end was a towering gate, similar to the one she had opened with the replica sword. This door, however, was far more massive, stretching nearly sixty feet in height. As her eyes gazed upon it, there was a twisting sensation in her gut. Something was wrong. The door… this whole place… was _wrong_.

Standing in front of that gate, his back to her, was a Red Wizard, garbed in his classic scarlet robes and bearing intricate tattoos on his bald pate. And as she descended a small flight of stairs and began to approach him, he addressed her without turning around.

“You stand before the Betrayer’s Gate, stranger. It is a door that should not _be_. Rest your eyes upon its surface, and you can sense the wrongness.

“I stood here at the Betrayer’s side – at my brother’s side. They were assembled all around us… angels, demons, mortals both alive and dead. Did the room expand to hold such a host? Or is my memory too small?”

The Betrayer’s Gate. As Rhaine looked upon it, her heart jumped into her throat, and she began to comprehend exactly what this thing was. Her voice trembled as she asked quietly, “Where does it lead?”

Although, she already had a very good idea what his answer was going to be…

The man turned around, and she could see that he was very pale, gazing at her with soulless, ghostly eyes. She had seen those eyes before, in another dream.

_Eveshi… Ahrraman… Akachi’s brother…_

Araman? The Araman who had usurped Safiya’s Academy? Could he somehow…?

“Life and death flow together in that simple slab of rock. Pass through it, and you will find the place of Final Judgment – the city of the dead with its wall of screaming souls,” he answered solemnly, almost sadly. “A wall that my brother vowed to tear down. I _swear_ to you, if I could take it all back… if I could make him see…”

Suddenly, a movement on the stairs caused them all to whirl around.

It was the Red Woman.

“Is that... Safiya?” Gann murmured. “No… it only appears to be her. But so _close_ …”

“You? Make _him_ see?” the woman asked incredulously as she approached, largely ignoring Gann and Rhaine’s presence. “Araman, you flitting shadow… you were nothing but a leaf caught in a great storm. Why do you hunt me? You would destroy everything that your brother strove for… render his sacrifice meaningless!”

The man hissed, “Not to destroy, to set things _right_! How could I choose my brother over my god? He chose mortal love above the deities, and the _Realms_ paid the price. Yes, I was a feeble and flitting thing when I followed him through that door… but I _learned_ from his decisions… his _mistakes_.”

They both looked at Rhaine, then, as if expecting some sort of answer. She glanced between them, “Ah… look, the Betrayer wouldn’t have wanted this strife between you, would he?”

At that, the Red Woman’s face softened somewhat. “No… he wouldn’t.”

Araman’s expression, however, hardened. “What my brother wanted… how could that matter? My brother _wanted_ to uproot the planes and tear the gods down from on high! The universe cannot be rent asunder for the sake of _one soul_!”

Rhaine hesitated. She thought she was beginning to understand, and this was a complicated matter indeed. “There has to be much more to this than a simple bond between brothers. It sounds to me like your hand is being forced, somehow… I do not think _you_ are to blame…”

“What?!” the Red Woman exclaimed. “How can you absolve him of responsibility! He could have chosen to stand by his brother until the end! Instead, he is a mask for a dark and twisted thing… a _dead_ thing!” She shook her finger accusingly at the Doomguide. “At the end of your road lies dead faiths, and when you reach it, you will see him for what he is!”

The two wizards then attacked each other, the Red Woman also summoning servants to deal with Rhaine and Gann. Between the combined power of her three opponents, however, the Red Woman fell easily, and when it was over, Araman looked down at the woman’s body and then back up to Rhaine, his silvery eyes meeting hers. “Thank you. I took no pleasure in her death. Remember that, when we meet outside of dreams.”

There was a flash of light, and both wizards abruptly vanished, leaving Rhaine and Gannayev alone again.

“This dream is finished,” Gann muttered. “But its meaning eludes me, for now. And look, there is another portal.” He pointed to the stairs, where the dream portal had reappeared. “Let us see where it leads.”

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Grey soil, dry and cracked, crunched beneath their boots. The air was filled with a chilling sound – the tortured wails of thousands of souls. Louder than this was the howl of wind that whipped around the pair.

And Rhaine found she could not breathe… could barely move… for the sheer terror that clutched her heart.

Immediately, she knew where she was – where this new dream was set. She should not be here. Even in dreaming, _she should not be here_ …

Ahead of her was the Wall of the Faithless, and this was the Fugue Plane – the realm of the dead, with the City of Judgment at its grey heart. Only a small section of the City was visible to her, however. Nothing but the Wall was clear, and everything else was shrouded in a blanket of thick, white mist.

“What is this place?” Gannayev looked around, his brow furrowed. “Do you know? It is alien to me.”

“The realm of the dead,” Rhaine croaked, her voice nearly failing her.

She had no choice but to move forward, however, coming ever closer to that wall of eternally-screaming souls. It was twenty feet high, composed of the countless _billions_ of Faithless spirits that had been mortared there for centuries. They were compacted together, limbs twisted at odd angles, covered in what appeared to be a greenish mold.

And then, amid that wall of damned souls, she saw a face she recognized… a face she never thought to see again.

_Bishop._

His body was almost entirely absorbed into the Wall, now – only his face remained above the surface. One of his eyes was colorless, and his once-dark hair had been drained white. The other eye focused on her as she approached, her mouth open in disbelief.

“Well, well, well,” he smirked. “Fancy seeing _you_ here.”

“Bishop? I thought you had escaped? You ran from Garius… you should have survived…”

“Oh really? I remember things a little differently,” he hissed sharply. “Your brilliant plan brought that whole place down on top of us. The last thing I recall seeing was bits of _my own skull_.”

His good eye then flicked past her to Gann. “And who’s this? Broke poor Casavir’s heart and traded up for this hagspawned wretch, did you? Or did you leave the paladin under a pile of rock as well?”

“You always saw something between Casavir and I that wasn’t there, Bishop,” Rhaine retorted.

“Really? Well, if I see dear Casavir in the Wall, I’ll give him my regards. We’ll chat like old times… trade a few stories about our fickle swamp wench.”

Suddenly, the entire Wall shifted, and the souls cried out as the structure rippled and bucked, pulling them all further into its depths, even if it was only by a few inches. For an instant, Bishop’s smirk was replaced with true fear until the Wall stopped moving at last.

“Can you hear it?” he asked quietly. “Beneath the screams? They know why you’re here.”

Rhaine’s brow furrowed. “What? This is nothing but a dream… I’m not here for any reason…”

There was a pause, and then Bishop’s one good eye widened. “Wait, I saw you! Here! I saw you in the Wall!”

The Doomguide’s own eyes grew wide as well, her heart galloping. “No… that’s not possible…”

“Wait,” Bishop squinted at her, as if doing so might allow him to see her more clearly. “You’re not her. You’re a mask… nothing but a mask…”

Rhaine was about to open her mouth to ask what on Toril he was talking about when there was another cry from the spirits, this time in terror. The cries became louder and louder, nearly overwhelming her…

Bishop’s eye focused on Rhaine’s. “He’s seen you! The god of the dead! He’s _seen_ you! They’re coming…”

_Oh, no…_

At the sound of invocations behind them, Gann and Rhaine whirled, and there came two brilliant flashes of light. The Doomguide barely had enough time to cast an _Elemental Shield_ before the fiery magic of a Pit Fiend and a Horned Devil slammed into them both. The spirit shaman had to douse himself in magical water before summoning an air elemental to help even the odds. It was a ferocious battle, and one that left Rhaine quite drained, even in dreaming; her hunger was ever-worsening, and the smallest fights were getting to be too tiring to keep up. She needed to feed soon… hopefully on something undead…

After the devils were banished, the hagspawn leaned over with his hands on his thighs, panting for breath. Rhaine, too, had collapsed to her knees on the hard grey earth. After a moment, Gann pointed to the Wall. “This isn’t over, yet. I think we should go back to where your ‘friend’ was.”

She nodded and, with Gann’s help, stood once more. Making her way back over to Bishop, she found that the evil ranger had been completely sucked into the Wall now. However, his hand had shifted in the process, and she noticed that something was yet stuck in its grasp.

Tentatively, she reached out and let her fingers brush the surface of the Wall, a shudder wracking her spine on contact. Even through her gauntlets, it was soft and springy, like moss. She then dug further into the material a bit with her fingertips, frowning as she did so. But the Doomguide suddenly hissed and jerked back as something pricked her finger through the leather of her glove and drew blood. Pulling a bit of the moss-like substance away to see what it was, she found that there were barbs like briars under the surface – long, sharp, and perfect for holding things fast.

Carefully, then, she began tugging at the thing in Bishop’s hand, and little by little, she began to work it free. She kept pulling and wiggling, pulling and wiggling, until, finally, it came loose at last.

It was another leather mask fragment to join the first two.

“This mask,” Gann breathed. “I’m beginning to think that it is far more significant than its shattered appearance would suggest.”

And then, at last, the portal reopened behind them, indicating that this dream had run its course. Rhaine was quite relieved to see it, and together, they left the facsimile of the Fugue far behind them, wondering what else the Coven would throw at them.

\------------------------------------------------------

They found themselves back in the Chamber of Dreamers, the nine hags suspended before them. Considering the fact that Safiya, Kaelyn, and Okku were nowhere in sight, it was safe to assume that this was yet another dreamscape. The magical barriers that protected the hags were gone, and sounds of collective snoring filled their ears. Then, the noise of a thousand whispers began to fill the chamber overtop it, until they coalesced into a single voice that addressed Rhaine directly.

_“Speak.”_

“You,” Gann interjected, the fury in his voice barely held in check, “you are the ones who sleep beneath Rashemen.”

_“Yes.”_

“You are the murderers of my father, and the wardens of my mother, cursing her never to sleep… never to dream.”

_“Yes.”_

“Why?” He demanded, visibly trembling in anger. “She did not harm you! She did not-”

 _“She broke our_ law _, spawn! Such disobediences must be punished, or they are repeated! Now… spirit-eater. What are your questions?”_

Rhaine hesitated, glancing to Gann. “Those visions… why did you show them to me?”

 _“We did not show you._ You _showed_ us _, and we drank deep. Such was the price of the words we now speak to you.”_

Her brow furrowed. “So you’re saying that those dreams came from _my_ mind, not yours?”

_“Yes. From its deepest places… where dream and memory both mingle and are often forgotten.”_

She paused for a moment, exchanging surprised looks with Gann again before continuing, “Two women came to you some time ago with business that concerned me. What did they ask you about?”

 _“Yes, the white twin and the red. They sought to put an end to your affliction… to ease your suffering. Words are cumbersome… we will_ show _you what you wish you know.”_

The two women suddenly stepped forward past her – semi-transparent, like apparitions. Rhaine realized that she was seeing an event that occurred in the past, when the women had come to the Coven for answers, and this was a replication of what the Coven had seen.

_“The white twin was Lienna… the red twin was Nefris.”_

_Nefris!?_ The Doomguide’s thoughts were awhirl. That was the name of Safiya’s mother…

The two specters halted right where Rhaine was standing, and Nefris was the first to speak. “See us hags of the Coven, and know us for what we are.”

“We beseech your wisdom, and we offer you gifts of dreams the likes of which you have never seen,” Lienna added.

 _“Your dreams are indeed a treasure trove,”_ the hags had answered, _“and we know the question that lurks in your minds. But you must give it voice. Speak.”_

“Please,” Lienna pleaded. “We would wish to know how to end the affliction that the Rashemi call the ‘spirit-eater.’ We have searched for so long…”

“Tell us how to end the suffering of the eater of souls!” Nefris demanded. “How may we grant it peace?”

The hags did not respond for several minutes, the whispers withdrawing and seeming to converse amongst themselves. At last, however, they coalesced again, and they answered, _“That curse is a punishment, meted out by one who once reigned as god of the dead. He alone knows its beginnings, and he alone knows how it may be ended.”_

Rhaine’s mouth dropped open, her mind reeling. But she could not stop to think, as the vision was not yet over.

Lienna’s eyes widened. “You… you speak of Myrkul. But he is dead!”

“We seek an answer, not a riddle!” Nefris snapped. “That god of the dead has passed from existence and memory! His throne has long been usurped!”

 _“His body is dead, yes,”_ the hags replied, _“but his thoughts are still active in his rotting hulk of a mind. As long as people remember him, even if they are pitiful few, he will persist. He dreams, and his visions are rife with the desire for vengeance.”_

“Then we must speak… with a dead god?” Lienna asked incredulously.

Nefris’s face hardened, her voice strengthened with resolve. “It can be done. That is all we would ask of you, sisters of the Coven. Thank you.”

And with that, the apparitions vanished at last.

“So this curse is the doing of one of your gods?” Gann asked skeptically.

 _“‘_ Your _gods?’ The gods of the dead watch_ you _, Gannayev-of-Dreams! And if you do not believe in them, then one of their harshest laws shall be inflicted upon you – to lie in the Wall of the Faithless until you are nothing more than a fading dream. So, keep your defiance if you must, but it will be your undoing in the end.”_

Rhaine stepped forward, heart pounding. “Did they succeed? Did they actually speak with Myrkul? And if so, how?”

_“We do not know. Nefris returned to her Academy and Lienna to her theater. Seek the room with portals and beg passage from the Keeper of Doors. There is a portal there that provides access to places only the traveler knows. It is by this portal that you will find your way to the Academy.”_

Silence followed, and Rhaine let out a long, shuddering breath before nodding her understanding, filing away all that the Coven had revealed to her. “Thank you.”

But then, steeling herself, she drew her sword. “And now, hags, your dream is going to come to an end.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Gann snarled as he tightened his grip on his spear. “Show them the horror of the waking world!”

_“Foolish, stupid thing! You would end a treasure trove of dreams that is unsurpassed in this plane… among all the planes? You would shatter the collection of memories from thousands of mortals who have long perished… the knowledge of everyone from kings to wizards… all because of an idiotic whim? You will bring this entire place down around your ears, and then what will you have gained?”_

Rhaine’s eyes narrowed. “You may have done such wonders, but you did so by theft. I will make sure that you no longer walk unbidden in mortals’ dreams, haunting their sleep and trespassing in their minds!”

_“You have neither the strength nor the will! You will fail and then your power will be ours!”_

“She is not alone,” Gann added, his face alight with determination. “I stand with her, and I am no novice to unraveling dreams.”

At that, Rhaine nodded to the hagspawn, and together, they mentally assaulted the Coven’s collective minds with the help of Gulk’aush’s eye, which she had thrust into Gann’s hand. The Doomguide then added her spirit-eating abilities to the dreamwalker’s considerable skill, her greedy hunger ravaging through the energies that held the knowledge of eons together like the threads of a spider’s web, and the Coven’s collective dream began to break apart at its weak points. Ultimately, it shattered in a thousand ribbons of power that slipped right out of the Coven’s grasp, snatched into the ravening void. One by one, the hags awoke at last, screaming in rage, and the pair was launched from the dreamscape and into the waking world…

There was a flash of light, and suddenly Okku launched past Rhaine, his ivory fangs bared for the attack. Safiya and Kaelyn joined the fray, and soon the nine hags were nothing more than smoldering corpses on the floor of the ruin, its halls silent. This action, however, had indeed destabilized the Sunken City even further than it already was, and the companions were forced to flee through the winding corridors, across the shadow pier, and back through the black portal to the sunlit lakeshore. From there, they watched as what remained of the Imaskari city sank beneath the roiling waves of Lake Mulsantir.

Gone. And Gulk’aush with it.


	29. The Headmistress's Legacy

Sand, sand, and more sand.

That was the first thing Rhaine noticed about the Thaymount.

A portal in Lienna’s shadow theatre did indeed lead them there, and thus it was confirmed that Nefris was the one who had taken both the silver shard and the rest of the Sword of Gith from Rhaine. Safiya was more than a little surprised at the confirmation that her mother would do such a thing, ruthless as she could sometimes be. She was even more astonished that Nefris had managed to accomplish all of this without her ever knowing about it.

The second thing the Doomguide noticed was that the Academy of Shapers and Binders was well-guarded by a band of gnolls and locked tight as a drum. It seemed that Araman’s coup had occurred rather quickly, and the headmistress and her supporters had stood little chance against him. As Nefris’s daughter, Safiya knew very well that she was in danger here, and she voiced her concern that there might not be any allies of hers left alive.

After fighting their way past the hyena-headed guards, they entered the Academy at last. Fortunately for them, the first wizard who spotted them was one of Safiya’s old mentors, Master Djafi. Djafi informed them that Araman was looking for Safiya, but that he was not presently at the Academy. He mentioned that Araman was also searching for a way to kill the “Founder” – the wizardess who had begun the whole school. However, because of that last endeavor, Djafi seemed to think that Araman had lost more than a few marbles, as the Founder had supposedly died hundreds of years previous. Nevertheless, Araman’s preoccupation with such a task would keep him from noticing Safiya’s presence, and the group would be able to investigate what Nefris was doing before she was killed – hopefully without incident.

The halls of the school of magic were yet littered with the dead, both instructors and students alike; any who had openly sided themselves with the headmistress had been slain on the spot. Priceless artifacts had been shattered to pieces, ancient books burned, and blood yet pooled in the corners. But what was most disturbing about it all was that the instructors who lived continued to hold class as if nothing had ever happened.

Even though, judging from their state, the souls of the dead were long past the bounds of the Prime, Rhaine still paused in the foyer and muttered a collective Passing for them. Once finished, however, Safiya cast her a sidelong glance.

“You said those words once before, in the shadow theatre at Mulsantir,” the wizardess said. “Though I’m certain it has to do with your profession, I’m curious as to the function, if you don’t mind explaining.”

Rhaine sighed. “In short, it’s a part of Last Rites. Once a person dies, the Passing is recited to help speed that soul along to the Fugue Plane – to let Kelemvor know to watch out for them. It is intended to smooth the journey on the Final Road, so no souls linger too long in perilous places. Admittedly, it does little after so long a time. But it feels wrong to pass by so many dead, killed in such a violent way, and not say a little something for them. No matter who they might have been in life.”

Safiya cocked her head, hazel eyes meeting hers for a long while before she glanced away. “I can respect that. In a way, I feel I should thank you on their behalf, even if it’s for a kindness they likely never would have reciprocated in life.” She visibly swallowed. “But they were still my mother’s allies, however callous, and they deserved better than what they were dealt.”

“I may no longer be a Doomguide,” Kaelyn added, “but I know well the value of one’s words when it comes to ensuring souls move on to their afterlife. We can only pray the suffering dealt in these people’s final moments, and on such a large scale, does not produce enough negative energy to cause a haunting.”

And for once, Rhaine agreed with the half-celestial.

As the Doomguide continued to look around, cautiously taking in her surroundings with the din of lectures floating in the background, a slight glitter of metal on a nearby shelf caught her eye. She moved over to a tall bookcase in the entry hall and saw that a vase had shattered at its base, a ring resting within. Wondering _why_ a ring would be hidden away in a vase, she carefully reached for the small gold band that lay in the darkness there. As soon as she picked it up, her stomach flopped, her heart skipping a beat.

It radiated the exact same soothing warmth that would have come… _should_ have come… from her own holy amulet any time it was touched. It was a feeling she knew all too well, and upon experiencing it again, the sweet sensation of utter peace falling over her, she realized just how hollow and cold her heart had felt for what seemed like an eternity…

“What is it?” Safiya asked, peering over her shoulder.

“I do not know,” Rhaine murmured, almost in awe, her throat constricting even as the spirit-eater writhed defiantly inside her, demanding attention. “But it feels so… _familiar_ …”

The Doomguide turned the ring over and over in her hands, looking for some sort of identifying mark that would tell her what, precisely, this was. But it appeared for all the world to be just a plain gold band… until she at last glimpsed something etched on the inside. A faint inscription, nearly rubbed away from constant wear.

_Lyonsbane._

Her mouth dropped open, her breath caught in her throat, and her hands began to tremble. “By all the gods… Safiya, how did _this_ come to rest here?”

The Red Wizard frowned. “A great many artifacts have always been here, at least for the entirety of _my_ life. What did you find?”

Rhaine half-smiled, curling her gloved fingers around the ring. “A great relic of my church, in fact. This is Kelemvor’s family ring.”

At that, Kaelyn’s eyebrows rose high, and there was a slight rumble of acknowledgment from Okku. Rhaine herself could hardly believe what she was saying. No doubt there were a great many charlatans who had created copies of such a ring – the design was simple enough that it could easily be replicated by any competent jeweler. However, the feeling in her gut, past that damnable ravening void, told her that this was the real thing… and that it was not by mere chance that she had found it. Not in the midst of the darkest time in her life thus far.

Perhaps there was hope after all.

\------------------------------------------------------

The headmistress’s tower was a wreck. All of her papers, books, and personal artifacts had been strewn across her chambers like autumn leaves. Even so, Safiya managed to recover her mother’s journal from a pile of ruined tomes near the window, and it suggested that Nefris had been involved in a great many experiments… but none of them addressed the spirit-eater curse or a way to find Myrkul, as the Coven revealed she had been pursuing. The only other thing of note was a door set into the far wall, charred as if a great many fireballs had been thrown at it. Yet it had held firm through such an arcane assault, and thus it presented itself as their only lead.

After much examination, Safiya concluded that the only way to open the door was to provide four “fabricated souls.” She then explained that the Academy not only dealt with the magical school of Transmutation but also the school of Necromancy, and a library in the Academy kept a great many so-called “soul housings” – spherical devices that trapped individual souls within for examination and experimentation. Four slots in the unopenable door would hold these spheres perfectly. Safiya was certain, however, that the souls they needed would not be sitting in the library waiting to be checked out; judging from the experiments that _had_ been addressed in Nefris’s journal, the headmistress had hidden the required soul housings behind various obstacles around the Academy, and they would have to solve these puzzles to gain the proper spheres.

Rhaine was none too pleased with this catalogue of souls, and Safiya admitted that it made her uneasy as well. Thus, she promised the Doomguide that if she were to ever become headmistress, she would remove the library and free the souls trapped within the housings. Satisfied that the wizardess would keep her word, Rhaine said nothing more about it… even though the urge to smash every single one of the small spheres herself was almost irresistible.

Hours later, they were in the midst of solving the headmistress’s challenges when Rhaine came across a man she never thought she would see again. The group was passing by the infirmary, and she just happened to glance inside to see a strikingly familiar bald head with a ruddy beard inside. Astounded, the Doomguide caught Safiya by the arm and dragged her into the room behind her.

It was none other than Ammon Jerro.

The warlock was not entirely himself, however. Apparently, the infirmary was a ward for the soulless. His body lay stiff as a board on one of the hard cots, his soul magically extracted and taken somewhere else in the Academy. Rhaine immediately set about searching for it, bent on restoring her former companion to life. After much searching and persuading, the Doomguide finally managed to procure it; his soul had been traded to two bound Pit Fiends elsewhere in the Academy’s halls, who wanted yet another soul in exchange for giving up his. After swallowing her scruples and finding an appropriate trade for them, the Doomguide received Ammon’s soul from the pair of devils. She then quickly returned to the infirmary and brought the soul housing close to the warlock’s body.

There was a sharp intake of breath, then, as if Ammon was quite literally inhaling his spirit from the orb. The light of the sphere rapidly faded until the glass housing was nothing more than a transparent crystal ball in her hand. His wild eyes fluttered open, and he attempted to sit straight up before Rhaine pushed him back down on the cot. “It’s all right! It’s me… Rhaine. I just returned your soul to you.”

Ammon’s brow furrowed, and his eyes flicked here and there as he looked her over, studying her. “You… I’m somehow not surprised to see you here. Though, you do look a little worse for wear.”

“You’re in a right state yourself, Ammon Jerro,” Rhaine remarked with a raised eyebrow. “How in the world did you get here?”

He paused a moment, closing his eyes briefly, as if thinking. Then, after a few moments, he replied, “Long story short, I followed those beasts that were carrying you out of Merdelain, and I managed to get through their portal before it closed. As it turns out, the mistress who sent them was none too pleased to see me come in after you.” He shook his head. “She and I have a bit of a history, you see, and she wanted her revenge against me. So, she dealt with me swiftly, putting me in that pitiful state in which you found me.”

“Well,” the Doomguide replied, crossing her arms, “you don’t have to worry about her anymore. She’s dead. One of the senior instructors led a coup against her.”

“ _Hmm_ ,” Ammon hummed, brow furrowing. “That is most intriguing. The headmistress was an incredibly powerful wizardess. If anyone was somehow able to lead a successful rebellion against _her_ , I shudder to think what terrible magic they might possess. But I suppose that explains how you’re able to roam around here without incurring any wrath.”

“Yes,” Rhaine answered with a slow nod. “Though she did manage to cripple _me_ , too, before she died. I’m now afflicted with an ancient curse called the ‘spirit-eater.’”

The warlock sighed heavily, closing his eyes. “Then it seems my attempt to protect you failed.”

“But we _did_ finish the King of Shadows,” she added. “There is at least that. And speaking of which, what happened to the rest of our companions. Do you know? I can’t remember anything past the nightwalker exploding…”

“Ah,” Ammon nodded. “I thought you might ask about that. So you remember nothing of the collapse that followed?”

She shook her head, lips pressing together. “I’m afraid not. I think I was knocked out rather quickly and… and I have been unable to recover any relevant memories since.”

“Very well, ask about them and I’ll tell you what I can recall.”

Rhaine’s thoughts first went to the primary arcane spellcasters among them. “Do you know anything about Sand or Qara?”

“The last I heard from Sand was a Transmutation spell… a polymorph, if I remember correctly. If he chose his form carefully – say, an iron golem – then it is likely that the wizard lives. Qara as well.”

She nodded. “What of Grobnar?”

“The foolish gnome threw himself on top of his precious ‘Construct’ as a pillar fell towards it,” he replied with a snort. “I saw neither of them stir beneath the rubble.”

Rhaine winced. “And Elanee?”

“The druidess lives, I do believe. I think I saw her race by in animal form just as the final collapse occurred.”

“Neeshka?”

At the tiefling’s name, Ammon let out a soft chuckle. “I don’t know if it was her lucky coin, or if someone was watching over her from below, but she managed to dodge every mishap that came her way. The only thing that prevented her from following me in your pursuit was a wall of debris that fell in her path. It is likely that she lives.”

She smiled. “Khelgar?”

“I _know_ he lives,” Ammon replied with a lifted finger. “He almost made it to the portal with me, but it snapped shut behind me. It is good that he did not follow, though. I doubt Nefris would have spared him.”

“Zhjaeve?”

“She vanished utterly. I did not see her amongst either the living or the dead.”

“And Casavir?”

The warlock’s gaze drifted away. “His back gave out as he held open a collapsing doorway so that the rest of us would be able to pass through. A fitting end for one so chivalrous, I do believe.”

Finally, Rhaine nodded her understanding and fell silent for many moments. If Ammon’s account was true, then Bishop, Grobnar, and Casavir had all perished in the collapse. But there was a great chance that Khelgar, Neeshka, Sand, Qara, and Elanee were still alive… possibly even Zhjaeve. It was not as bad as she had thought it might be, but the fact that any of them had died from the fall of the Vale hurt her greatly.

“So,” she looked back at Ammon, her voice softer, “what will you do now?”

He sighed again and looked up at the ceiling. “I do not know. Now that my quest is complete, I feel without purpose. I would join with you again, but I am too weak at the moment, and if what you say about your current state is true, then you have no time to waste waiting on me to recover.” He turned his head, grasping her hand in his own with surprising strength. “Go on with your life, Rhaine Alcinea, and do not worry about me.”

The Doomguide inclined her head, squeezing back. “Very well, Ammon. It has been good to speak with you again, and I thank you for your knowledge concerning our comrades – it offers a bit of closure, at least.” She smiled weakly, then, clasping her fist to her chest in salute. “Fare thee well, my friend, and may you recover swiftly.”

\------------------------------------------------------

The four soul housings, once finally obtained, fit into the door seamlessly. Rhaine had just pushed it open to see a small hallway beyond when she heard a noise behind her. She and her companions whirled around, weapons at the ready. There, filling the headmistress’s chambers, were the remaining instructors of the Academy – including Master Djafi – with Araman at their head.

“ _You!_ ” Safiya hissed.

“There,” one of the wizards spoke, pointing eagerly. “The door is open, Araman. We waited, and we have done all you asked of us. Now all that is left is to take care of those fools.”

“I’m telling you, the girl doesn’t deserve this!” Djafi exclaimed. “We’ll do it quickly and mercifully or I’ll have no part-”

“Wait,” Araman held up his hand to silence them. He then approached Rhaine, peering at her as if to look _through_ her, not _at_ her. He was so very pale in comparison to his darker-skinned, Thayan colleagues, his features hard and almost gaunt. His silvery eyes met hers, and she shuddered.

“Araman,” she murmured, even as she clutched _Touch of Death_ tighter in her grip. “I saw you… in my dream…”

He cracked a wry smile, but it was one that faded quickly. “A dream? Or a memory? Is there anything left of you in that shell?”

One of the wizards looked irritated at his words. “Araman, with all due respect, I do not see the reason to play games any long-”

“Silence!” Araman barked fiercely. “This is my brother I’m speaking to.”

At that, the Doomguide’s face bore an expression of puzzlement upon it, even as her thoughts swirled wildly in her mind at his suggestion. “What? You are mistaken. I grew to womanhood on the other side of the world. There is no way-”

“No. That is the identity of the mask you wear,” Araman replied softly. “Cast that aside. Look deeper, if you can. Go back to Rashemen… to _home_. Behind that door, you may find truth. But you will also find folly… a folly that will tear the planes asunder.”

Ever-confused, Rhaine shook her head. “If there is truth behind that door, then I have no choice but to press on.”

It was then that Araman closed his eyes, as if in irritation – but his calm, almost melancholy tone did not change. “Then I can protect you no longer. Go. My fight is not with you.”

And with that, he promptly turned on his heels and left the headmistress’s chambers without another word, leaving them all, including Safiya, in stunned silence.

The remaining Red Wizards did not leave with him, however. They were eager to rid themselves of the last remnant of Nefris’s regime – Safiya herself. Fortunately, Rhaine managed to convince Master Djafi to side with her and Safiya against them, and together they launched a massive spell battle that rocked the headmistress’s chambers. There were so many explosions and flickering shields that it was hard to tell who was friend or foe. Twice, the Doomguide was thrown against a back wall with the force of a _Bigby’s Crushing Hand_. Gann had once again been set on fire, and he was forced to run right into his own water elemental to douse the flames.

At last, however, the room was deathly still. Djafi had suffered many wounds, which Kaelyn promptly patched up as Rhaine recited another Passing. He then returned to the main Academy to deter any followers, while Rhaine and her group passed through the mysterious doorway. There, at the end of a long hall, was yet another portal. This one, however, was _not_ a shadow portal. Judging from the runes along its archway, it led to the Astral Plane – the endless sea between worlds.

Taking a breath and throwing caution to the wind, Rhaine stepped through.


	30. Dead God of the Dead

Rhaine felt that if she inhaled too deeply, she would float away. She and her companions had been deposited on what appeared to be a meteor that floated within a blue and violet maelstrom. Smaller meteors drifted lazily past, and the faint twinkle of stars could be seen beyond the protective “winds” surrounding this chunk of dark rock. The Doomguide stepped forward, making her way around what seemed to be a solid stone wall, her sword held at the ready, and it was then that she was confronted by three Death Knights. These undead servitors, though nothing but skeletons now, still wore the elaborate black and silver armor they had sported in life. Their eyes glowed as scarlet pinpricks in the dark slits of their visors. One of these knights stepped forward, his age illustrated by his manner of speaking – the long lost speech of noble chivalry.

“Halt!” he commanded, holding up a hand to stop her. “Why dost thou approach? My master hath spoken of expecting a visitor… one whom he hath described as having an ‘insatiable appetite’.”

“Your mas-?” she was cut off as she glanced to the left and then did a double-take, her mouth falling open in shock.

That rock wall was _not_ a wall, but a portion of a massive _pelvic bone_. Her eyes slowly followed what was definitely a gargantuan spine and ribcage before finally focusing on a massive skull. The skeleton, which appeared to be embedded in the very rock upon which they stood, reclined in a distinctly casual manner on the natural curve of the meteor.

 _Myrkul_.

Or, what was left of him.

“ _Err_ ,” she turned back to the Death Knight, swallowing hard. “I am a spirit-eater. That would fit your master’s description.”

The Death Knight paused and then took a step backwards, gesturing towards the skeleton as if to formally allow her passage. “Indeed. You may speak with him… but you will need to come closer and whisper in his ear.”

Rhaine looked back up at the skeleton’s spine, which effectively served as a ramp straight to the giant skull. Heaving a shaky sigh, she took a step, resting her foot on one of the vertebrae. There was neither movement from the skeleton, nor any objection from the other Death Knights in response. Slowly… carefully… she climbed the dead god’s spine and approached his skull, her companions following closely but silently behind her. Part of her was curious to know what Gann might be thinking in that moment.

Then, as the bones of the ribcage arched high overhead, the empty eye sockets abruptly lit up with bright azure flame, and a matching nimbus of light encircled the skull like an aureole.

_“Ahhh, what is this? Are you a dream? A fantasy? A recollection spawned of my own dead mind? Yes… you are that. But you are more, too…”_

Myrkul spoke to them, his voice a high-pitched whisper that grated within their minds, commanding their attention. It was laced with a casual arrogance that clashed rather harshly with his current state of being. And then, she _felt_ the dead god’s attention focus specifically on her.

 _“I_ know _you, spirit-eater. You are an irony that walks… two fates bound together, both severed and incomplete.”_

“‘Two fates’?” Rhaine repeated, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

_“Two fates, yes. Of the hero who plied the Sword Coast, I know little. But the other, Akachi, is just as I left him.”_

The Doomguide’s eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat. So her suspicions were confirmed at last. The spirit-eater _was_ Akachi… or what was left of him after Myrkul had his way. That meant that Araman was indeed Eveshi – if Rhaine was also to assume that he was correct in calling her his “brother.”

But how had Araman lived so long? And why did he seek to kill Nefris, Lienna, and now the Founder?

 _“He is…_ empty _, now,”_ Myrkul continued, his voice tinged with cruel amusement that caused a shiver to race down her spine. _“A ravening void that always seeks to fill itself up… to reclaim what the Wall took from him. So, he_ steals _a face, a body, and a name. These things are a mask to be worn for a time, until they, too, are devoured by his endless hunger.”_

“This _thing_ inside me was once a man,” Rhaine replied, her tone deathly quiet, “and you turned him into a monster… a monster that ruined my life and the lives of hundreds… nay _thousands_ …”

 _“Yes… a man whose crimes against the planes were unsurpassed. And so I devised a fitting punishment. His hunger was born of the Wall of the Faithless. I placed him there, and I watched as his mind slowly drained away. His thoughts… his_ memories _… these things were taken from him_ one by one _. But before the Wall could consume him completely, I tore him free… so that his suffering – his_ emptiness _– would linger eternal.”_

At that, Rhaine stared at those azure flames, and she felt them boring back into her as she absorbed Myrkul’s words. She did not feel fear, however; in fact, a boiling rage was growing within her by the second. Here, she had her culprit. The source of all her suffering quite literally lay before her…

And now, as she looked upon Myrkul’s corpse at last, she was hit with a wave of realization – memories of what the hags had told her at Coveya Kurg’annis swimming to the surface of her mind. There was another reason behind the creation of the spirit-eater… one that the dead god was not revealing. Not yet, at least.

“You are only telling part of the truth, Myrkul,” she charged. “Akachi’s punishment was more than just that.”

_“Was it?”_

“Oh, yes,” Rhaine continued, smirking. “And the very fact you are still cognizant after all this time is proof of it.”

The voice hissed in response. _“If you are so clever, Doomguide, then_ make your point. _”_

“My point is this: you needed a way to keep yourself alive – a way that was more certain than the feeble hope that the dwindling remnants of your priesthood would still whisper your name on occasion. This curse was a long-term plan. As long as it never ended, the memory of your evil works would persist… and so would _you_.”

 _“Ah… what a sure wager you were, spirit-eater,”_ Myrkul answered, obviously pleased in some sort of sick and twisted way. _“And of all the masks, you are the first to know what you truly are. Two faces bound together… one betrayed my faith, and the other never worshipped me at all. But_ together _, you are my truest disciple. The irony is deep, and worthy of a god’s devising.”_

His words made her nauseous, and she fought the bile rising quickly in her throat. To know that she was keeping her own god’s predecessor alive… giving him a chance to reclaim his old throne by merely _existing_ in this twisted manner…

But she wasn’t here to indulge Myrkul’s conceited reveling in his own evil achievements. She needed to find out how to end this perversion. But how to persuade the dead god into revealing it to her? Especially now that she knew for a fact it was his eternal phylactery, in a sense?

And now, on top of that, there was another alarming issue with which to contend. One that could not be ignored any more than ending the curse could. She knew from the Academy’s soul repository and the Founder’s experiments that it was almost impossible to combine souls in the same housing… one or the other was almost always displaced in the process.

That begged the question of just where her own soul had gone…

“So,” Rhaine finally asked, her fists clenching as she steeled herself, “if Akachi is within me… where is _my_ soul, now?”

_“I made a place for him in the Wall of the Faithless. Your soul has gone to fill it. When the Betrayer’s hunger finally consumes your body and mind, your soul will be dissolved into the Wall and you will be no more. To reclaim your soul… to tear it from the Wall… only in that impossibility would you ever find your salvation.”_

Her eyes widened, her breath loud in her ears. No… no… it _was_ impossible… there _had_ to be another way…

 _“But how to assault the City of Judgment?”_ the dead god continued in a mockingly musing tone, evidently entertained to no end by her growing horror. _“Unless the road was already paved for you?”_

She reeled as though struck. “The Betrayer’s Gate, in your Vault. The gate I saw in my dream.”

_“Yes, spirit-eater. That gate is a doorway to the empire that I lost – the realm of the dead. Do you have the key, I wonder? You possessed it once… it is that which you and the Betrayer held in common – the silver blade of the demigoddess, Gith.”_

Her eyelids slipped shut, her lips pressed together. She should have realized it sooner. If the replica gate was opened by the replica sword, then the _real_ gate would be opened by the _real_ blade.

 _“It awaits you, fully forged, in the sanctum of one who_ loves _you. Everything in place… as if it were planned this way from the start.”_

Rhaine’s temper flared, her eyes snapping open again. “ _Your_ plan, Myrkul? For your deranged pleasure? So you can watch your successor’s faithful fall from grace?”

_“The pleasure may be mine, but the plan is not. Your ally and your enemy are one and the same here… and I am neither. Yes, spirit-eater... you must do what Akachi did so long ago. Kelemvor will know the pain of true betrayal when his most precious Favored Soul - his most trusted servant - breaks his highest law!_

_“Use the Sword to open the Gate… assault the City of Judgment and tear your soul from the Wall. Finish what Akachi began. Your Captains have long awaited your return. When the Gate swings wide they will come like loyal hounds… tongues lolling from their mouths at the very thought of another Crusade.”_

Realization slammed into her once more. _That_ was what Kaelyn had been looking for in Myrkul’s Vault. She wanted to find another way to the Fugue… and a way to summon Akachi’s lieutenants for herself. The only reason she had failed to do so was because she lacked the proper key…

_“To whistle up your dogs, spirit-eater, you will need the Sword of Gith. Two portals lead from this drifting cairn of mine. One brought you here. The other will lead to the sanctum where your ‘ally’ awaits. Go quickly, if you wish to look upon her face. You will not be her only visitor this day.”_

Rhaine tightened her grip on _Touch of Death_ again. “Araman followed me through the portal, didn’t he?”

_“My hound is clever, is he not? You opened the way, as he had hoped, and now he has followed your ally to her lair. You saw him in your dream… saw him for the priest he once was. He served me at his brother’s side, and he turned against me at his brother’s whim. He chose his brother over his god, but in Akachi’s defeat, I showed Araman mercy. He saw the error of his ways and repented on his knees.”_

“Did he really?” Rhaine quipped. “Or did you give him some ‘encouragement’?”

 _“Ah, spirit-eater…perhaps some part of Akachi_ does _linger in your mind. You know me as he once did. Yes. I ensured Araman would not betray me again. I put a_ geas _upon him and imprisoned his soul in the City of Judgment… a hostage, until such time as he sends your ally’s soul to its rightful place. His body does not decay, at my decree, until he brings down his quarry.”_

“And is Araman’s soul still there?”

 _“Yes. It lies in the Fugue, still. The order of a god is not so easily changed, and Kelemvor is loathe to reverse any judgment, lest he be seen as too human… too_ weak _. Your ally’s very existence breaks his law as well.”_

“And what are you to gain from this, Myrkul?” she asked darkly. “If I end this curse, your plan is shattered. You will fade away into nothingness.”

_“Will it? You may spare your soul from the torment of the Wall, but Akachi’s will live on. The hunger was born of the Wall… of emptiness. You cannot destroy that which is empty. The spirit-eater will live on without you, as will I.”_

Rhaine took a breath. “And in assaulting the City of Judgment, I glorify you further.”

 _“With_ everything _you do, spirit-eater, the embers of my soul burn a little brighter.”_

Suddenly, her hunger twisted painfully. She was incredibly weak now, deprived too long of spirit energy. She bent over at the waist from the sheer agony of it, hating that she was showing Myrkul weakness to his face…

…and then an idea hit her with icy clarity. Rhaine locked “gazes” with the dead god, her face hardening. She straightened slowly, then, and spoke in a voice that frightened her with its quiet strength.

“Now, Myrkul, in return for all that you have given me, I wish to give a very special gift to you.”

The dead god’s response was furious. _“Judgment is not yours to dispense, spirit-eater! The hunger of the Wall holds no sway over gods!”_

Just to drive the blade home, she began reciting an exaggerated spiel as a Doomguide in service to Kelemvor, “You are clinging to an undead existence, afraid of what lies beyond – afraid of death. There is no need to fear death, for it is the natural accompaniment to life. As a Doomguide, I vow to direct you to your proper rest… to cleanse you of the taint of undeath-”

 _“You have no right! Judgment is the purview of gods! In everything you do, spirit-eater, you glorify_ me _! You stoke the embers of_ my _soul!”_

“And now I will snuff those embers out. Farewell, Myrkul.”

Starved as she was, it didn’t take much effort to call forth Akachi’s ravenous hunger, which sensed the rampant negative energies that supported the dead god’s undead state. Her power surged forth, latching onto those energies with an extraordinary force, _pulling_ them from Myrkul’s grasp like an invisible rope.

 _“A final irony,”_ the dead god whispered, _“even in this…”_

Those energies were very abruptly snatched from Myrkul like legs from under a table. They coursed through Rhaine in azure ribbons, restoring her to full strength and _beyond_. Her vision went white, her body humming with power. Even in his frail undeath, the god’s energies were _vast_ …

And then, the flames of Myrkul’s eyes vanished, as did the halo of light about his skull, and all was silent at last.

\------------------------------------------------------

The Death Knights, of course, objected to Rhaine’s actions, and there was a fierce duel between them and her companions afterwards. With her newfound strength, however, the Doomguide put a quick end to the undead warriors, and soon they, too, lay just as quiet as their god.

After a few moments, Safiya finally spoke, “So, the old god of the dead is nothing more than a passage in history. Forgive me if I do not weep at his passing. But… how does it feel, having devoured a god?”

Rhaine shook her head. “I did what had to be done. I vowed that I would have my revenge on the creator of this curse… and so I did.”

“No matter your reasons, I approve,” the wizardess smiled, putting a hand on her armored shoulder.

“As do I,” Kaelyn added. “Judgment was long overdue.”

The Doomguide smirked. “Well, I now know what _you_ were looking for in his Vault, ‘Dove’. I do hope you don’t intend on calling another Crusade when I open that Gate, because I will not abide it. I go to free my soul and end a curse, not launch another hopeless attack against something that cannot be changed by mortal hands.”

At that, there was no answer from Kaelyn. Gann, too, was suspiciously quiet, and Rhaine had a feeling that the dead god had shaken the hagspawn to the core. But they could not dwell on such things. If Araman was already after the Founder and, subsequently, the Sword of Gith, then they could waste no more time. The Doomguide swiftly moved to another open portal, opposite the first, and stepped through.


	31. The One Who Started It All

They found themselves in a musty dungeon, the smell of earth and mold permeating the atmosphere. The place was dimly lit with very low ceilings, making it feel more like a prison than a sanctuary. Judging from the smoothness of the damp stones around them, this place was ancient, indeed.

It was also crawling with Myrkulites – the very last remnants of the dead god’s priesthood, garbed in their armored black robes and armed with blessed scythes; Araman had certainly not underestimated his foe. But with every one of the clerics Rhaine and her companions slew during their search, the Doomguide took comfort in knowing that Myrkul’s chances of ever rising again were becoming slimmer and slimmer.

At the same time, however, she also feared if they had indeed come too late for the Founder…

The priests were not the only obstacles in their way. The labyrinth was constructed in such a manner that the only method of advancing deeper into its bowels was by way of a series of teleporters. Some of these teleporters led to dead ends, and this resulted in the companions getting turned around quite a bit and increasing Rhaine’s frustrations and worries. They had to hurry.

At last, however, they came across a large antechamber with a sealed door across from them, and standing before this door, alongside a contingent of a dozen more Myrkulites, was Araman himself.

Two of the clerics began advancing towards Rhaine, as if to stop her, but Araman held up a hand again, his scarlet robes swirling as he turned around to face her. “Stay your blades! This is my brother, though his face is not his own.”

And the priests obeyed his command, freezing in place.

“Araman,” the Doomguide began, hesitant to bring this to a battle between them. “Please… step away from the door. Let me speak with the Founder. She may have the key to ending all of this.”

“She is the _cause_ of all of this!” the wizard exclaimed. “Your pain and mine. Ask yourself… how could my brother have done what he did had _she_ not planted the seed in his mind? How could a stranger from the west lie in a barrow and become a victim of this curse if _she_ had not placed you there? She has made you her pawn, and she will manipulate you for her own selfish ends!”

“The Red Woman,” Rhaine murmured in realization, awe in her voice. “She was the one Akachi loved… he actually managed to tear her from the Wall…”

“She is a Faithless soul,” Araman hissed coldly, “and I will send her back to where she belongs, or I will die and go to my Judgment with a light heart!”

They attacked.

The fight with the Red Wizards was nothing compared to the battle that ensued between the companions and the last of the Myrkulites. Safiya had spoken truly about Araman – he was a _master_ of both divine and arcane power. Rhaine had never seen anyone handle magic with such proficiency, not even those spellcasters among her companions, past and present. It was, in all actuality, terrifying to experience.

The only advantage the companions had was Okku. The great bear spirit was unafraid of the Myrkulites’ considerable melee skill, and he charged them head on, successfully holding them at a strategic distance while his friends desperately tried to keep Araman’s spells at bay. It took all of their strength to keep their own magical shields up while they buffeted Araman’s defenses with destructive incantations in return.

But suddenly, in the blink of an eye, a dispelling enchantment from Gann stripped Araman of a very important resistance spell, and Safiya followed up with a fireball so quickly that Rhaine barely caught her movement. The resulting explosion _slammed_ into Araman, flaring white hot and filling the room with its scorching heat.

When the brightness of the spell faded at last, the room was completely still and eerily quiet. Rhaine blinked the spots from her vision, and it was then she saw the Myrkulites lying in bloody heaps upon the dank floor…

…and all that remained of Araman was a few charred scraps of his scarlet robes.

Rhaine, Gann, and Kaelyn all gaped at Safiya momentarily, unable to form words. The wizardess looked back at them, her face hard but her eyes brimming with emotion.

“That was for my mother.”

\------------------------------------------------------

The inner sanctum was alive with golems large and small. Some of them were clay golems, like the Keeper of Doors. Others were crude wooden archers. Still others were blade spiders and homunculi like Kaji. Two of these homunculi hovered forward, shielding someone beyond from view. They hissed at Rhaine, trying to keep her back and away.

But then, an ancient, cracking voice – feminine – spoke in a grandmotherly command, “Shoo! Let me greet-”

“ _Mother?!_ ”

Safiya’s staff clattered to the floor as the homunculi fluttered away and revealed an ancient, petite Red Wizard. The wrinkles upon her face were so deep they were more like cracks in her flesh, and the tattoos that had been inked atop her head were faded with age, but her deep brown eyes glittered with an undying inner flame.

“I… I thought you were dead!” Safiya stammered. “And… you’re…”

“Old?” the Founder replied with a wry smile. “No, Safiya, I am not the woman you remember, nor am I your mother in the sense you’ve always thought me to be.”

At that, Safiya’s mouth dropped open, and she was silent for several long moments before she recovered. “The voices… I _understand_ now. You, me, Lienna, Nefris… we’re all part of the same person – the same _soul_.”

“Yes,” the Founder confirmed with a small dip of her head, “the voices you heard were _our_ thoughts… and over time, you learned to ignore them, just as we had hoped. I can explain more to you later, but for now, let me just see…” the old woman peered at Rhaine.

“Ah, yes of course,” Safiya grinned, gesturing to the Doomguide, “there’s someone you should meet.”

The Founder stepped forward, looking Rhaine up and down almost critically. But then her face seemed to soften, and she spoke with an almost reverent voice, “My Akachi… how our faces have changed. I’ve seen hags comelier than the prune I’ve become. And you… you wear the skin of a lady.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “What a pair we are.”

Rhaine was more than a bit uncomfortable under the woman’s gaze. “Ah… you do realize that I am not-”

“Oh, I know! I know!” the Founder waved her hand in the air. “I know that there is nothing left of my love but that… _thing_ seething beneath your flesh. And the fault is _mine_ – I was the one he went to save… that he tore from the Wall and sacrificed his own soul for.” She shook her head again. “Better for us all if he had just left me to rot and found some other pretty girl to distract him from his faith.”

“Yes,” Rhaine murmured bitterly, “better for us all if he had.”

“All of this,” the Founder continued, gesturing around the sanctum, “the Academy… _everything_ I have done, both good and evil, has been for _him_ – I have never rested since that day. I know that I can never have him back, but I _can_ end his suffering… the punishment that never should have been his. And you can help me do this.”

“Araman was right – I _have_ become your pawn,” Rhaine snarled in response. “You act as if I have come to aid you by choice, but _you_ were the one who forced my hand to start with!”

The Founder’s dark eyes flashed. “Did I take the Sword of Gith from your hands? Did I cut the shard from your chest? Did I place you in the barrow to be joined with this monster? _Yes!_ ” She hissed. “And I would do it all a thousand times over with a thousand people just like you if it meant the chance that my love could finally have peace! And I will not rest until he does.”

She then paused for a moment, sighing heavily. “I chose you because you mastered the Sword of Gith… the sword I knew you needed to finish the job. You are tied to Akachi in this way, as all the sword-bearers are. In a sense, you are his heir, and I think some part of him knows this. You have more control over your hunger than any of the other spirit-eaters before you.”

The woman turned, and from a chest upon a table behind her, she produced the aforesaid silver sword. Now, just as Myrkul had told her, it was fully forged. There were no longer any gaps in the blade, and no ghostly tendrils glowed in the places where its edge should have been. The Founder then held it out towards Rhaine, the blade and its scabbard lying flat on her palms, allowing her to take both.

The Doomguide reached forth, grasping the Sword by the hilt, feeling the magic of it vibrate through her. However, this power came from the blade alone now. With the removal of the shard from her chest, Rhaine no longer felt some kind of innate, internal connection with the Sword – though powerful indeed, it was just another weapon.

“I would have given this to you much sooner, had Araman not interfered,” the Founder continued, “but once he found out that Lienna was part of me, he struck quickly… leaving only my Safiya to guide your way.”

Rhaine then sheathed the Sword and fastened its scabbard to her hip, where it had once rested during the Shadow War. “And if he had not struck? What would have happened?”

“Safiya was to take you to Lienna as instructed. She would then direct you to Nefris, where you would have regained your blade and learned all that you know now… save for one thing. You would never know about me – one little lie hidden amidst many truths.”

“Why the deception?” Rhaine asked, raising an eyebrow at the crone. “Did you fear retribution for your despicable acts? Were you afraid of facing the consequences of your actions?”

“ _I would face the Wall itself for what I’ve done!_ ” the Founder spat. “But only after I found peace for my beloved!” She stepped closer, then, her arms stretched wide and a hardened expression upon her wrinkled countenance. “I have done all I can for you. You know what to do, and now you have the tool to do it. If you want your vengeance at last, then _take it!_ ”

Safiya’s breath caught as she looked between the crone and the Doomguide. Rhaine heard Gann shift uneasily behind her, but other than that, the room was utterly silent – even the watching golems.

“You _used_ me,” the Doomguide hissed at length, her voice barely above a whisper, “just like Akachi before you, you committed unspeakable acts in order to save _a single soul_. You would sacrifice the lives and souls of hundreds – nay, _thousands_ – more to ensure that _one_ slight was avenged… _one_ mistake corrected. Your motives were pure – to end a savage and unjust curse – but your methods were far from it. That is not unlike some other people I know.”

She paused, taking a few steadying breaths, and then continued, “But it is not my place to exact punishment upon you. Your Judgment will come once more in the form of the Wall… and I think that will be retribution enough for me.”

Safiya’s eyes went wide as saucers. “I… I can’t believe it… she manipulated you… _destroyed_ your life… and yet you…”

Visible tears streamed down the wizardess’s face, unstoppable in their flow, and her voice trembled with emotion that was so rare for her to display, “I swear to you… even if the gods themselves try to stop you… I will stand by your side, no matter what. You have my word.”

“Then _go_.” The Founder stepped aside to reveal a shadow portal behind her. “Let the legacy of Myrkul be that his unspeakable cruelty ultimately _broke_ before a mortal’s resolve!”

Rhaine then moved past the woman with nary a glance and entered the portal in silence, her companions following close on her heels – leaving the Founder in her solitude once more. The Doomguide, though she did feel a twinge of sympathy for both Akachi and his lover, was utterly disgusted and wanted to leave the place _far_ behind her. She now had what she needed to proceed, and she cared nothing about the crone’s fate anymore.

Not when a life was just a means to an end to her.


	32. In the Betrayer's Footsteps

The shadow portal took them back to Lienna’s theatre, and from there, they returned to the Sloop for one last night of rest before facing what could very well be the final day of their lives. Despite this morbid notion, however, at least one member of the companions was strangely cheerful – Safiya. She seemed to be coming to terms with her existence as a piece of a soul rather well, and even made a few jokes about it on the way to the inn. Kaelyn, on the other hand, was relatively quiet, and she kept to herself for most of the evening. Okku, too, being a creature of action and not words, was content to simply slumber in silence until his teeth and claws were needed again.

Rhaine was about to leave the Sloop to speak with the Witches of Mulsantir when Gannayev suddenly pulled her to the side to speak with her in private. After a few minutes of awkward hem-hawing around, he suddenly professed his love for her. The Doomguide vaguely recalled a similar night not so long ago, when Casavir had done the same thing atop the walls of Crossroad Keep. Alas, her previous words would be repeated – though Gann was a valuable ally and now something of a friend to her, that was as far as their relationship would go. Fortunately, like Casavir, Gann took rejection as well as one could be expected, and he maintained that his respect for her was not diminished, nor was his determination to help her see her curse ended.

As she left him to his thoughts and made her way to the outdoor temple of the Wychlaran, she wondered _exactly_ what it was about her that the hagspawn had fallen in love with. After all, her soul – everything that made her who she was at her core – remained trapped on the Fugue Plane, and while her knowledge was intact, most of her memories, as well as her emotions, were largely gone… distant and almost impossible to reach.

There was nothing _left_ to love. Not here.

The moon was beginning to rise when she at last approached Sheva Whitefeather and her fellow Witches. The Doomguide then informed the eldest Wychlaran of everything that had transpired since their journey to the Ashenwood. Revealing that the spirit-eater curse was a divine punishment created by Myrkul, she told Sheva that now she had the means by which to do it, she was going to put an end to the curse, once and for all.

When Rhaine finished her tale, Sheva took the younger woman’s hands in her own weathered ones and met her eyes past her mask, their gaze gentle and reassuring. “We will pray for you, spirit-eater, in places only the Three can hear us. We wish you fortune in your quest… for your sake, and for the sake of all Rashemen.”

And with that, the Wychlaran departed the temple to do just that, Katya and even Kazimika casting her small smiles as they passed her by. Rhaine then turned and descended the path back to the main thoroughfare of Mulsantir, approaching the Temple of Kelemvor with a heart that felt like solid lead in her chest. There, she told Brother Darovik the same story she had given the Witches only moments before.

The priest was utterly horrified.

“No,” he shook his head in denial, fear and worry both etched onto his features. “There _has_ to be another way.”

“There _is_ no other way,” Rhaine replied flatly.

“You cannot do this!” Darovik exclaimed, seizing her by the shoulders. “You will not only defy Kelemvor’s will but the order of the planes themselves! You will damn yourself forever!”

“And what would you have me do, Darovik?” the Doomguide snapped harshly. “Just lie down and die? Let my soul be absorbed into the Wall of the Faithless, where it never should have been to start with? Let this curse pass to another and another and _another_ for all eternity? _No_. I have the power to stop it, and thus it is my _duty_ to do so. If it means my damnation, so be it. I cannot allow Myrkul’s undeath – something I am _sworn_ to destroy – to cause the suffering of mortalkind any longer.”

She spun, marching to the altar and kneeling before it, whereupon she rapidly uttered a string of prayers under her breath, as if it might offer her the comfort she so desperately needed in that moment.

Darovik stood in silence for many breaths before quietly approaching, gently squeezing her on the shoulder, where her collar met her breastplate. “I cannot stop you,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. But I _can_ offer you this, sister… never forget that even in the realm of the dead, you have a _choice_.”

Then, the old priest turned away from her and silently retired to his quarters, leaving Rhaine in solitude. The Doomguide continued to kneel there for a long, long while, her mind awhirl with thoughts – and the dread of what was to come. Darovik was right, of course. What she would do on the morrow would break the laws of the entire universe. Passage to the Fugue Plane was normally only granted by death, but she would carve another way with the Sword of Gith, just as Akachi had done before her.

Whether she liked it or not, she was following in the footsteps of the Betrayer.

\------------------------------------------------------

At last they were before it – the Betrayer’s Gate itself. It had seemed imposing in her dream with Araman, but it was even more so in reality, especially now that Rhaine knew just what realm lay beyond its accursed door. It stood in the very bowels of Myrkul’s Vault, at the end of a chamber that was indeed large enough to hold an army in its depths. Sarcophagi lined the walls, along with effigies of the dead god himself. These depictions almost seemed to leer at her as she advanced towards the towering gate. Even now, it felt as if Myrkul was taking perverse pleasure in her actions here.

At eye level, there was a vertical slot in the obsidian door, made to fit the Sword of Gith alone. Rhaine’s hand trembled as it grasped the hilt of the ancient silver blade and pulled it from its sheath. The Doomguide then heard more than felt Safiya’s hand on her armored shoulder, and she glanced sideways at the wizardess.

“We’re with you,” Safiya said with a slight smile of reassurance. “We’re going to end this curse, whatever it takes. Besides,” she added with a shrug, “I think this will be an excellent opportunity to study the Fugue Plane in detail. We’ll be legends amongst scholars.”

Rhaine blinked. Was everything just a science to the Red Wizard?

“Legends indeed,” Gannayev added with a wide grin. “The spirits themselves will envy us before this day is out.”

“That’s _if_ we don’t die as soon as we set foot through that portal,” the Doomguide retorted dryly.

Kaelyn’s face was grim. “As terrifying as Myrkul may have been, Kelemvor on his own home plane is even more so.”

“You would know,” Rhaine quipped.

“Enough of this banter,” Okku rumbled grumpily. “I am eager to see my vow kept. Let us open this gate, and whatever comes, _comes_.”

Rhaine let out a heavy, tremulous sigh and nodded, lifting the Sword of Gith and slipping it into the vertical slot. Suddenly, there was a loud grinding noise, and the two sides of the obsidian gate slid sideways into the wall, revealing a swirling portal ahead of them, the world beyond only darkness.

This was it.

_My lord, please forgive me…_

Closing her eyes, she took a single step into the portal and left Myrkul’s Vault far behind her.


	33. The Siege

There was a wrenching sensation in her gut and the feeling of wind rushing past her ears, even as she squeezed her eyelids tightly shut. That roaring sound rose to an almost deafening pitch, as if some mighty beast had awakened around her, enraged at her disturbing its rest. At last, after what seemed like hours, her forward movement was very abruptly halted, and she stumbled forward. Rhaine could hear her companions being deposited beside her, and she slowly opened her eyes.

Before them lay the grey expanse of the Fugue Plane, and just ahead of them, sprawling as far as the eye could see, was the City of Judgment. It appeared just as it had during her visions at the Coven – only this time, it was visible in its entirety, unobscured by the mist of a dream. The wheel-shaped city was ringed by the Wall of the Faithless, and the overwhelming cries of the spirits entrapped therein were almost a match for the howling winds that whipped around the plane like some ominous portent of doom.

As far as topography was concerned, the Fugue was flat and empty grey earth, occasionally punctuated by a boulder or dead tree, its only feature of note being the City itself. The metropolis, too, was completely level, save for a single towering structure: springing from the center of the city, like a smoky topaz spear piercing the sunless grey sky, was the Crystal Spire – the abode of Kelemvor and his seneschal, Jergal. The sheer sense of power emanating from the mere _sight_ of the Spire was enough to make her avert her gaze, her heart racing in her growing trepidation, and just looking upon it gave Rhaine the hair-raising sensation of someone staring right back at her with a profound intensity.

Indeed, _living_ divine eyes were upon them all, now.

Three figures stood between them and the City, however: a giant blue dragon, the oversized floating skull of a demilich, and a solar garbed in golden armor. Sey’ryu, Rammaq, and Zoab, in the flesh. The last of this trio jogged towards Rhaine, his tattered charcoal wings sporadically shedding a feather or two as he went.

“Hail, Akachi!” he greeted her as he finally reached her, his eyes glowing a bright white. “Long have we awaited your return. We watched for the second opening of the Gate and came, as we promised.”

“I am _not_ Akachi,” Rhaine hissed, “and I am not here for the reason you think I am… Zoab the _fallen_ solar.”

The angel merely shrugged in response. “Suit yourself. But you wield Akachi’s blade and you bear Akachi’s remnants within you. You _are_ his heir, like it or not. And I am not fallen – I still battle injustice in my own way.”

There was a movement near the gates of the City, then. A small group of paladins and adventurers emerged from within, brandishing their weapons and evidently ready to attack if necessary. Zoab pointed.

“Look. It appears that Kelemvor has sent a parleying party to meet us. No doubt he wishes to sway us from our cause. I do hope you plan on letting them know that under no circumstances will we surrender. Portions of each of our armies wait at every entrance to the City. We are ready to begin the siege, at your order.”

“Are you absolutely _insane_?” Rhaine snapped. “If this were Myrkul, we wouldn’t even be standing here having this conversation right now. I do not want a fight, and I do not want to incur Kelemvor’s wrath.”

It was true. The Lord of the Dead would have been entirely justified in blinking them all out of existence as soon as they set foot on his grey soil – was quite capable of that very thing – and the fact they continued to breathe spoke volumes about the current holder of the office of Death, as opposed to his predecessors.

“A noble sentiment,” Zoab conceded, “and one that I once would have shared with you. But make no mistake, heir of Akachi… there _will_ be bloodshed this day.”

With that, the Celestial turned and began jogging back towards Sey’ryu and Rammaq. The Doomguide had no choice but to follow and try to put an end to this madness before it began. As she and her companions approached, the dead heroes who had assembled at the gates called out to them in warning.

“Cease this foolishness! You risk your very souls by what you do here.”

“Turn back now and you may escape damnation. Kelemvor is not unreasonable, nor is he without mercy.”

Sey’ryu cocked her massive azure head to peer down at Rhaine with narrowed yellow eyes, their pupils slitted. “Kelemvor has chosen his emissaries carefully,” the dragoness rumbled, her voice vibrating Rhaine’s very bones, “these are False souls who once served in the First Crusade.”

At that, a dwarven spirit stepped forward, looking up at the Doomguide with a grim expression on his countenance, one that appeared startlingly solid for that of a soul. “Do ye remember me? I was yer smith, who forged weapons and armor for yer army, Betrayer.”

“ _Enough!_ ” Rhaine cried abruptly, causing everyone to look at her with eyes wide in anticipation of what she might say – or order – next. Her hands shook as she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “ _I… am… not… AKACHI!_ ”

Spinning about, in one fluid move she whirled on the Betrayer’s former generals, tossing the Sword of Gith to her offhand and drawing _Touch of Death_ with the other. “I am here to free my soul and end an unjust curse, not lead some idiotic Third Crusade. Kelemvor is my god – has _always_ been my god – and I will _not_ turn against him, now or ever!”

“Listen to her, you fools!” one of the spirits shouted behind her.

The Doomguide then strode closer to the False dwarven smith, turning her back to the great metropolis of the dead with both of her swords held at the ready. “And if you intend on attacking this city, then I will defend it to the last.”

Without hesitation, Safiya joined Rhaine’s side, her staff sparking threateningly with magic, her lips set in a thin line. Gannayev and Okku silently followed, positioning themselves at her other side, spear and claws ready. This left Kaelyn standing all on her own near the generals, her face bearing an expression of utter bewilderment.

“What?” the half-celestial stammered. “Y-you can’t do this! You are the heir of Akachi… you opened the Gate… called the Crusade…”

“Which I never wanted any part of to begin with!” Rhaine retorted sharply. “I already told you more than once… I will not abet this foolish endeavor! This may have been _your_ desire, Kaelyn the ‘Dove,’ but it was never mine.”

At that, Rammaq turned to Zoab, his eye sockets flaring with power. “Then it seems we have no leader, solar. What now, hmm?”

“We have not come this far to be denied our opportunity to show the planes true justice,” the fallen angel replied. “The Crusade will continue, leader or no-”

“ _I_ will lead.”

It was Kaelyn’s voice that made all heads turn. She had drawn her mace, and her face was set into a hard expression of determination. “I am more an heir to Akachi than Rhaine ever was.”

“Ah,” Zoab smiled, inclining his head, “then fortune has smiled on us after all. We have heard of you, Kaelyn the Dove, and your efforts to remove this intolerable Wall from existence. What is your command?”

“Whatever plans you have made for assaulting this city,” Kaelyn answered shortly, “execute them.”

Rhaine snarled in fury and started forward, but a giant blue paw descended to block her path, sending her stumbling backwards. Zoab spirited Kaelyn away, and Rammaq vanished with an insane cackle. Sey’ryu bared her long fangs and stared down at the Doomguide with a piercing yellow gaze. “I will hold these gates open, as I vowed… heir of Akachi or not!”

The blue dragon then reared back upon her hind legs and stretched her body over the defenders, slamming her mighty paws on either side of the open Supplicants’ Gate and breaking the mechanisms with a nauseating groan… rendering it unable to close. War horns suddenly sounded all across the City, and there was an accompanying din of battle cries from a thousand thousand souls and attackers.

The siege of the City of Judgment had begun.

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Sey’ryu’s glittering blue scales crackled with static as she built up an electric charge for a deadly lightning attack. The spellcasters quickly put up defensive shields as her energy discharged, slamming into the defenders and even vaporizing a few of the spirits into nothingness. Rhaine and Okku then launched into a melee attack, both rending the flesh of the dragon’s legs with swords and fangs as Safiya and Gann summoned sword and elemental respectively to help even the odds. The spirit defenders quickly added their own blades and spells to the fray, and soon the grey soil was running crimson with Sey’ryu’s blood. Still, the great dragon queen fought on, the Doomguide and spirit bear both exhausting themselves as they attempted to avoid her scythe-like bronze claws and flicking blue tail.

Then, suddenly, there was a bright flash of scarlet light and the dragon finally went down with an earsplitting roar, the ground trembling as she fell, never to get up again. The Doomguide bent over, gasping for breath as she healed a large gash that Sey’ryu’s mighty tail had torn into her through her breastplate, just above her belt, and she glanced around to see what could have been the source of such a powerful spell. What was left of the defending spirits scattered, presumably to combat the Crusade in other places in the City, and a lone robed and hooded figure with hauntingly-pale eyes came into view.

“Araman?”

The figure nodded as he came jogging forth to meet her, something of a smirk on his pallid countenance. “Never thought to see troublesome me again, did you?”

Safiya grumbled.

There was something different about Araman now, and it wasn’t just his new priestly attire. He seemed less severe, less… melancholy. A new fire glowed in his silvery eyes, even as a mere spirit.

“Your death released you from Myrkul’s _geas_ , didn’t it?” Rhaine asked after a moment, brows rising.

“That it did,” he replied with a grin, winking at Safiya, “and I have _you_ to thank for it. Now, I may offer my services to you in helping finish off this misbegotten Crusade.”

“You serve amongst the False, then?”

“No,” he shook his head, his grin widening. “I was judged Faithful to the office of death, even after following my fool brother in his Crusade. Believe me, I was just as surprised to receive such a Judgment as you are to hear about it.”

At that, there was an abrupt increase in volume of the battle cries coming from one district of the city, and Rhaine glanced up at the towering Crystal Spire above them. “Why doesn’t Kelemvor do something about this?”

Araman followed her gaze, slowly shaking his head. “I… I don’t know. This is quite unlike him. Perhaps…” He trailed, returning his attention to her with his brow furrowed deeply. “Perhaps he is giving you a chance to redeem yourself in the eyes of the gods.”

The Doomguide mirrored his expression. “What do you mean?”

“You called the Crusade by opening the Betrayer’s Gate with my brother’s blade. But you turned against it, and you have the power to end it. Which we must do and quickly,” Araman replied. “I can be your guide through the City, if you will allow it.”

Rhaine nodded, shifting her grip on her weapons. “Very well, Araman, I accept your aid. We should never have been enemies.”

“This is true.”

The Doomguide’s countenance then turned hard as she steeled herself for more battle. “Do you know where the attacks are centered? Where Akachi’s generals would be headed?”

“One problem remains right here,” Araman answered, pointing to the lingering, gaping portal that the Betrayer’s Gate had torn into the Fugue Plane. “Sey’ryu was to hold open the Supplicants’ Gate so that demons, called from the Abyss, could swarm the City. They will no doubt answer their planar summoners very soon.”

“What of Rammaq?”

“That demilich will likely be plundering the vaults of Eternity’s End, searching for his promised tome that grants the secrets of divinity.”

“And Zoab?”

“The greatest threat of all,” Araman remarked. “His target is the Voice of Kelemvor, in the Basilica of Lost Hope, where Final Judgment is pronounced. If he manages to slay the Voice, it will send a message of Kelemvor’s weakness throughout the planes, and rebels will spring up all over the City.”

“The demons will see this metropolis of the dead as an unending feast,” Gann interjected, “and the defenders will be hard-pressed to keep the resident souls safe if they make it into the city.”

“A demilich seeking godhood should not be underestimated,” Safiya added pointedly. “If he actually discovers those secrets before we are able stop him, then Kelemvor may be the only one who can.”

“I say we cut the head off the snake,” Okku rumbled. “Kaelyn may have taken up the role of leader, but it is Zoab who has organized this army. Defeat him, and they will lose heart.”

“Kelemvor’s paladins are trained to combat both demons and undead. We go after Zoab first,” Rhaine decided firmly. “Araman, can you lead us?”

“I can. Let us go!”

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Rhaine had not actually fathomed the sheer size of the City of Judgment until they had been running for at least fifteen minutes straight and the bleak horizon ahead seemingly remained unchanged in appearance. All three companions were panting for breath, but they could not stop… not when seconds meant everything. The Doomguide’s legs felt like jelly when she finally reached the staircase to the Basilica, and she feared that, with their mortal shortcomings, they were too late. But when they opened the doors at last, they found Zoab and his host of angels standing not far from the entrance, the Voice and his guards still swathed in shadow at the opposite end of the chamber.

Zoab turned upon hearing them enter. “Ah. So you see the importance of this place as much as I do? You are wise. It is a shame that we must be enemies.”

“Zoab, stop this,” Rhaine insisted. “What you are doing is wrong.”

“And I would say the same to you, my friend,” the angel answered solemnly, “but I sense neither of us will back down from our positions. Thus, as I said before, this _will_ be decided in blood.”

The angels leapt forward, not towards Rhaine and company, but to the Voice and his guards; the Celestials were intent on destroying him before the companions could even react. The Voice and his paltry sum of guardians prepared for attack, but were quickly being overwhelmed by the angelic host. The Doomguide sprinted forward, desperately trying to reach the much quicker Zoab before he overtook the Voice himself… but she would never make it in time…

Suddenly, a burst of white light exploded between the Voice and the solar, manifesting into a _Blade Barrier_ and causing Zoab to stumble backwards before he was rent to shreds by the spinning blades. Rhaine felt herself grin widely.

Only one other member of their current party would have known that spell and it was not Gann or Safiya.

The _Barrier_ successfully blocked physical access to the Voice, and so a magical duel ensued, a few of the angels attempting to dispel the whirling wall of blades, but to no avail. The others of them spun on both Rhaine and Okku, the latter successfully knocking Zoab to the ground before he could do anything else. At that moment, a massive lightning storm from Gann struck at least five of the Celestials multiple times, frying them in their armor.

Then, the room erupted into a conflagration of fire and divine light, coming from Rhaine, Safiya, Araman, and the Voice all at the same time and filling the chamber with blinding power. When the smoke finally cleared, there was nothing left of Zoab’s company but charred skeletons and melted armor, and Okku stood over the solar’s corpse with bloody jaws.

The Voice stepped forward, then, his eyes obviously blind, and intoned, “Your work is not yet done, Rhaine Alcinea. There is much more to do to end this Crusade. _Finish it_.”

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They returned to the Supplicants’ Gate just in time to head off a horde of demons. Unfortunately, only Araman remained unfazed and was not fatigued by the events that were transpiring around them. Lacking a true body, he was not affected by the endless running and fighting – and thus, Rhaine realized that the spirits here were the ones with the true advantage. If the Lord of the Dead desired it, he could have a relentless army of billions at his command within minutes. Only, he was not utilizing such power… even to hold off the Crusade. The Doomguide could not help but glance back up at the Crystal Spire again and wonder what Kelemvor was thinking…

The companions routed the demons with the help of a few paladins, and for several moments they simply sat on the dusty grey earth, desperately trying to catch their breath. They had all been wounded to some extent, and they were quickly running out of energy for spellcasting. Araman helped to heal them all, rejuvenating them a bit, but he could not completely remove the effects of true exhaustion.

Staring up at the blank sky, Rhaine sighed and forced herself back to her feet, even as they ached beneath her weight. The Doomguide could have been sitting for mere minutes, or she could have sat for hours – it was impossible to tell which. There was no sunrise and no sunset. Time held no sway here. Luckily for them, there was only one more problem to deal with – Rammaq. Rhaine wondered if the demilich had found what he sought yet… or if, in their flawed mortality, they were already too late to stop his ascension.

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Araman led them to the district of Eternity’s End – so named for Jergal’s incessant obsession with the apocalypse. The sounds of battle could be heard throughout the streets, and it was obvious that Rammaq’s forces were slowly gaining a foothold. Dozens of empowered zombie warriors swarmed the paladins of Kelemvor, and though the spirit knights were undoubtedly skilled, they could not continue to hold their own with the current odds of one-to-seven.

“These undead are resistant to _Turning_ ,” Araman remarked. “We must tackle them head-on.”

Rhaine did not need to be told twice. She charged to the defense of the paladin nearest her, hacking the head from the shoulders of one zombie and then twisting the Sword of Gith into the heart of another. A _Flame Strike_ later, the two Kelemvorites had whittled the opposition down to three, and within the next few moments they, too, fell. The paladin’s face was not visible for his silvery visor, and so he nodded his thanks to her.

The two then turned to the next batch of zombies, who had already overtaken one of the other paladins. Araman and Safiya had engaged them with fireballs and reduced their number significantly. However, the surviving zombies had backed the pair into a wall, and the spellcasters were defenseless in melee. Fortunately, Rhaine’s _Hammer of the Gods_ was enough to slow the undead, and the paladin handily finished them off with his claymore.

Gann, Okku, and two more paladins were faring a bit better, the spirit bear easily tearing the zombie warriors to shreds with his teeth and claws. When at last the final zombie fell, one of the paladins raised his visor. Rhaine could tell that he had been scarred severely across his face, one of his eyes blinded by the wound. The other eye was electric blue, and locked on hers. “We have heard of your attempts to stop the Crusade, Rhaine Alcinea. We thank you for your aid. Rammaq is plundering the vaults here as we speak. As you can see, we do not have nearly enough manpower to confront him on our own. We will continue to patrol the district, but _you_ must put an end to the lich.”

The Doomguide nodded once. “I understand.”

The paladin lowered his visor once more with an audible _snap_. “Remain ever vigilant.”

Two of the vaults were empty, save for a few more zombie warriors lumbering around their chambers. The last, however, was occupied by Rammaq himself. The floating skull turned upon hearing their footsteps behind him, and his mandible waggled as he spoke. “Ah… the little heroine. You may have halted the efforts of my comrades, but you have come too late to stop me. You see, I’ve already found what I wanted to know here. Immortality is _mine_. Unfortunately, it will take a bit of time for the divinity to set in, but I do not think you will be able to destroy me before that happens…”

Without another word, Rammaq attacked, charging Rhaine with his fanged jaws wide open, as if to swallow her whole. She rolled to the side and he barely missed her, slamming into a bookcase and causing all of the tomes held upon its shelves to fall to the floor, some of them crumbling to dust on impact. The skull promptly spun around midair and then turned semi-transparent, the companions’ weapons simply passing through his ethereal form.

The demilich called _Chain Lightning_ , then, and the three casters immediately counterspelled with energy shields. Unfortunately, poor Okku could not be spared from the electrical damage, and his form flickered as he took it full-force. This only served to enrage the Bear King, however, and he sprang at the skull, hoping that his magically imbued teeth and claws could damage the lich somehow. Gann was trying time and again to dispel Rammaq’s raised magical shields, but to no avail. Araman’s _missile storms_ pummeled the demilich at an almost constant rate, but Rammaq seemed impervious to such harm.

Rhaine had begun to think that the lich had indeed attained godhood… until, very suddenly, all their spells winked out of existence, and the demilich became a solid entity once more.

“Attack him now with your weapons!” Araman yelled.

Rammaq didn’t know what hit him. Furious and sick of this damnable Crusade, all of them converged upon the lich at once while Araman’s anti-magic field remained in place. With their enchanted weapons, they smashed the gems that served as the demilich’s eight phylacteries, proceeding to beat the skull senseless until the bone shattered in a hundred pieces upon the floor.

And it was… at long last… _done_.

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As the foursome left the Vault, struggling to catch their breath, Rhaine wondered where Kaelyn was now. This would not truly be over until she was stopped. Suddenly, however, a robed spirit came running towards her from the direction of one of several temples in the district, calling to her.

“Rhaine Alcinea! I have a message from the Master Scrivener. He requests your immediate presence.”

“I… very well,” the Doomguide assented, glancing to her companions. “Lead on.”

The messenger then turned and led her inside the small temple nearby, pointing her to this Master Scrivener he spoke of. The spirit in question was – or had been in life – an old man, his beard snow white and eyes a steely grey. He smiled gently at her as she entered.

“Rhaine Alcinea. Welcome. We have heard of your deeds in halting this Crusade, and in return for your aid, we have seen fit to grant you the knowledge that you seek. That ledger,” he pointed to a gigantic book that lay open upon a dais, “is the Codex of the Doomed. Within, you will find the location of your soul in the Wall of the Faithless. Go now. We have done all we are allowed.”

At that, she dipped her head in gratitude, more than a little surprised at this turn of events but thankful for it nonetheless. “Thank you.”

The temple itself was quite dimly lit, even to her half-elven eyes, but the Codex itself was brightly illuminated by an unseen source. Rhaine moved forward slowly, warily approaching the giant tome, even as she was allowed to do so. Then, as she ascended the steps of the dais and peered at the text written upon those thick pages, she realized to her great dismay that she could not read it at all. It seemed like it was a language she _should_ know somehow, but it had been muddled and jumbled into an incoherent mess.

And then, it clicked. It was Supernal… the language of the gods. It would _not_ be readable unless it morphed to a tongue she could understand.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the temple from some unknown source, and the pages of the tome began flipping at a rapid rate, causing her hair to fly back from her face with the sheer force. At last, however, the book stopped, and the page it opened to glowed slightly, one section of the text morphing into Common…

It was her _name_ , and beside it was scribed the exact location of her soul in the Wall of the Faithless. It was trapped in the southwestern section of the City, at a small cul-de-sac near where the Wall began to curve eastward.

“This is where I must leave you,” Araman suddenly spoke, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet of the chamber. He had hung back from the rest of the group, and a sad smile now flickered across his face.

Rhaine smiled faintly in return, knowing that he would not be able to assist her further without breaking universal law himself. “I see. Then I thank you for your assistance, Araman. We would not have been able to succeed without you.”

His pale eyes met hers. “I must also thank _you_ , Rhaine. You are a better person than my brother ever was. It has been an honor to know you and to fight at your side. Perhaps, someday, we will speak again…”

And with that, the wizard-priest vanished as if he had never been, leaving them reduced in number once more.

“Did you find what you needed?” Gann asked after a moment.

“Yes,” she replied, descending from the dais and walking briskly towards the entrance of the temple, “I know where my soul is, now. We’ll need to pass by the Supplicants’ Gate again and follow the Wall until it begins to turn east. There’s a small dead end nearby.”

As they exited the scriveners’ temple, however, they were confronted by a rather unwelcome sight.

Kaelyn.

She had brought two of her siblings, Efrem and Susah, with her. All three had brandished their weapons, and there was nothing but cold calculation in Kaelyn’s black eyes.

“Kaelyn,” Rhaine began in a warning tone, “stand down _now_.”

“No. You turned on the Crusade – denied these souls true peace. For this, you must die.”

Without hesitation, the Menagerie attacked, though noticeably not with the aid of flight despite the fact they had wings; perhaps they feared Kelemvor himself would strike them right out of the sky if they flew too high – or perhaps they were merely that suicidal now that the Crusade was crumbling before their eyes. Still, the resulting battle was quite heated. Unlike the companions, the Menagerie were neither exhausted nor depleted of their spellcasting energies. And yet Rhaine and her friends did share the advantage of being more experienced in melee combat. The companions struck swiftly, leaving the Menagerie little time to cast any spells, and slowly but surely, the tide began to turn.

Safiya hung back near the doors of the temple, using up what few spells were left at her disposal. Okku challenged Efrem and Gann tackled Susah, while Rhaine dealt with Kaelyn herself. The “Dove” had not trained as extensively with weaponry as the Doomguide had with her bastard sword… and it showed. Kaelyn relied too heavily on her armor to protect her, and she constantly left herself exposed in vital places. The half-celestial managed to land a few strong blows upon the fatigued Doomguide’s shoulders and arms, but Rhaine struck twice as often, bloodying Kaelyn with deep slashes between the plates of her armor.

It was clear that Susah’s only talent was with a bow. They were in too close quarters for her to fight with ranged weapons, and so she attempted to go hand-to-hand against Gannayev’s spear. This, however, did not go in her favor. The hagspawn was far too quick, and the mithril point of his weapon cut through her leathers like a hot knife through butter. Efrem did not fare any better, either. Though he was bigger and stronger than his sisters, he was no match for the Bear King. Within seconds, Okku had knocked the man to the ground and swiped his claymore out of reach.

A final blow from Rhaine sent Kaelyn sprawling onto the cobblestones, her silver armor now crimson with her own blood, and the Doomguide pressed the tip of _Touch of Death_ to the half-celestial’s jugular, very nearly breaking the skin with the razor edge. Gann had already pinned Susah against a wrought iron fence, his spear locked against her neck. Okku stood on top of Efrem with his jaws held inches away from the trembling man’s throat. Safiya hovered nearby with a spell at the ready in case anyone moved further.

At that moment, there was a flash of white light to the side, and another solar appeared. He was flanked by two lesser planetars, and these angels stepped forth, though not with weapons in hand.

“Hold your blade, spirit-eater,” the solar spoke in a rich baritone. “I have come to take my grandchildren back to Celestia.”

“G-grandfather?” Kaelyn croaked.

The solar bent over his granddaughter, brow furrowed in obvious disappointment. “Kaelyn… look what your arrogance has wrought. It is not bravery to stand against the universe, but _foolishness_.”

Kaelyn’s black eyes, now dull, flicked to Rhaine. The Doomguide kept her blade to the half-celestial’s throat for a moment longer, seriously contemplating killing her regardless of the grandfather’s presence, before finally jerking it away with a snarl.

She glanced to the solar. “Fine. Take her. I know she wishes to die… wishes to become a martyr like her hero, Akachi. Thus, I will not grant her that satisfaction. May she return to your halls in shame.”

The solar nodded once and scooped up Kaelyn’s broken body. The planetars did the same for Susah and Efrem. With one last look over his shoulder, their grandfather inclined his head to Rhaine in appreciation. “Thank you for your mercy, spirit-eater. The Menagerie will trouble you no more.”

And with another flash of light, all of the Celestials instantly disappeared from the Fugue.

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For a few moments, the companions simply stood there, half in shock that they had survived. It was over. The Crusade was finally ended.

“Listen,” Safiya whispered, looking all around her, her hazel eyes slightly wide in awe.

It was _silent_ … eerily so. The sounds of battle were completely gone. Not even the cries of the Faithless could be heard. Rhaine realized that the winds around the City must have served to keep the constant wailing from disturbing the spirits within the walls. It felt calm… peaceful… like a graveyard in the early morning, when the grasses were still wet with dew.

Furthermore, without the sounds and imminent threats to distract her, she could actually _look_ at her surroundings. She noticed that, though Eternity’s End was mostly comprised of temples, vaults, and archives, there were a few abodes for the spirits here and there. All followed the same stone style, possessed the same elaborate fences of wrought iron, and sat beside the same eternally-burning streetlamps. The architecture was actually not unlike that of Waterdeep – only, much more somber in color and material.

“As tempting as it might be to lie down and slumber in such silence,” Gann finally added, “I think we should keep moving. No doubt the master of this place wishes to see us gone as soon as possible.”

“You’re right,” Rhaine nodded. “We still have work to do. If we can accomplish it.”

They walked out of the district, then, and followed the Wall back around to the Supplicants’ Gate, continuing on to the southwestern sector of the city. All the while, Rhaine noticed the streets were empty, not one soul or guardian appearing to block their way.

Then, at long last, they came across the cul-de-sac that should have been near where the Doomguide’s soul was held captive. They spent a few minutes looking over that particular section of the Wall, attempting to find the appropriate soul by appearance alone, but it was a surprisingly difficult task. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack…

“Look, there!” Safiya suddenly called.

Rhaine jogged over to where the wizardess was pointing and there, back arched dramatically away from the rest of the Wall, was her soul. It was attached to the surface of the Wall by the hands and feet and covered in a sickly greenish mold, but there was no mistaking it… that was _her_ likeness she was staring at, desperately trying to avoid its fate. And so far, it had only succeeded because her heart continued to beat.

“You have seen this place before, my Doomguide. Do you remember?”

A chill wracked her spine, and her companions immediately froze right where they stood as the air itself nearly hummed with power the likes of which none of them, save perhaps Okku, had felt before.

_Oh, gods…_

She had only heard that voice twice in her life – warm and smooth as velvet and resonating with strength – but she recognized it instantly. Her knees threatened to fail her, and at the same time, she felt completely paralyzed with fear and dread. She could not bear to turn around and face the owner of that voice…

…could not face her Judgment.


	34. The Faceless Man

She should have known that a confrontation with Kelemvor was unavoidable, for even as she had turned against the Third Crusade, and the spirits of the City had been willing to help her in her quest, she was still trespassing – violating universal law by merely standing in this place. And now that he had cornered her here, pinned her at her final destination, there was nowhere she could run, and certainly nowhere she could hide. With incredible effort, Rhaine forced her paralyzed limbs to move, and she slowly turned around, steeling herself…

But what she saw made the Doomguide’s breath catch in surprise.

The Lord of the Dead was not at all what she had expected. In all actuality, she wasn’t quite sure _what_ she had expected in the first place. The surprise was certainly not a disappointing one, however. In fact, it was somewhat comforting on some level, for instead of seeing a terrifying, skeletal avatar of death – the horrific visage that Myrkul and Jergal before him would have worn – she saw…

…a warrior-priest?

Kelemvor leaned against a nearby obelisk with the casual air of one who was utterly in control of the situation at hand, his arms folded across his chest as he beheld the group of companions. He wore a blackened harness of full plate armor, bits of tattered chain visible here and there, and a hooded cloak of some dark, almost gossamer material was draped about his shoulders, flowing to the ground where it puddled at his feet in an indistinct shadow. His mighty bastard sword, _Fatal Touch_ , hung loosely at his left hip, its sleek beauty no doubt matched by its deadly edge. But perhaps the most significant feature of all was his mask, shining as if moonlit beneath the darkness of his cowl.

It was a full death mask, crafted of gleaming silver, leaving no part of his true face exposed, not even his eyes. That shimmering, perfectly-chiseled countenance was molded into an expression of repose, and it bore the slightest hint of a scowl – the eyebrows furrowed softly and the thin lips slightly downturned at the corners. All around the closed eyes and edges of the mask, delicate swirling patterns had been etched and embossed. Nothing at all was visible past this mask; blackness around it hid even the flesh of his neck and his head from view. Thus, the silvery countenance almost appeared to float within the deep shadows of his hood.

And yet, despite not seeing the eyes that looked upon her, she could _feel_ them. It was the same sensation she had felt when first gazing upon the Crystal Spire, only now it was ten times as strong, accompanied by the incontrovertibly powerful aura that his full divine presence brought with it.

Rhaine immediately dropped to both knees, her weapons clattering upon the paved street as she bowed her head low, and she heard her companions do the same behind her. They had better, for all their sakes…

“My Lord Kelemvor,” she managed to address him past the choking sensation in her throat, her own voice meek and unsteady in comparison to his.

“My Faithful ally. You have come before your time to our grey realm and empty sky.”

Her head snapped up in shock, meeting the downwards-tilted silver visage with wide eyes and an open mouth, her breath caught in her lungs.

Did he… did he just call her _Faithful_? And _ally_ , to boot? Her heart nearly stopped its rhythm in her chest and killed her then and there. It was far, far more than she could have ever hoped, much less expected, to hear as his first words in person to her.

After all that had transpired… after all the laws she had broken… he was not angry – or, at the very least, disappointed in her? With but that single gentle greeting, she was rendered wholly speechless, even as he pushed off from the obelisk and took a few steps closer to the companions, his footsteps silent.

The Lord of the Dead gestured to their somber surroundings and casually interlaced his gloved fingers as he came to a halt. “An unremarkable corner of my city, and yet these cobbles have witnessed the greatest injustice of all. Here, the curse began… and here, it can finally _end_.”

Again, she reeled. Then he was not opposed to this act against the Wall? He was not here to stop her, but… to encourage her?

At last, Rhaine found her voice again, though it came out cracked and wavering. “Then Myrkul and the Founder spoke truly? All I need to do is tear my soul from the Wall, and… and it will be over?”

Kelemvor slowly shook his head, his mask shimmering almost mesmerizingly with the movement. “The Founder wanted too much to believe that Akachi’s curse could be undone. Myrkul told her what she wanted to hear, and that was only _part_ of the truth. He wagered that the curse could only be ended through _sacrifice_ … a sacrifice most mortals would not be willing to make. But Myrkul deceived himself.”

The Doomguide fell silent again as she absorbed her god’s words, brow furrowing. She should have known Myrkul had left out something important, after all. Naturally, he would have – the curse was the key to his survival…

“Akachi’s hunger was born of loss – the loss of memory, soul, and self,” the Judge of the Damned explained, drawing her attention back to him. “He _can_ be restored _if_ he remembers who and what he is.” The god then gestured to where her soul had been wrongfully imprisoned in Akachi’s place. “ _Take back_ what is yours from the Wall, and then return to Akachi what is his. All you need, you have already found in dreams.”

At that, Rhaine exchanged astonished glances with Gann. “The mask fragments… they’re pieces of the Betrayer himself?”

“Akachi’s essence was scattered, not lost,” Kelemvor replied with a nod of affirmation. “If he had been truly destroyed, nothing would remain to hunger.” After a few moments, he added, no small amount of disgust lacing his darkened tone, “Myrkul was so enamored of his own cruelty that he could not see its flaws.”

The god then motioned at the Wall again. “Free your soul. Then, bring the mask fragments together, and Akachi’s hunger will end.”

She swallowed, still astonished that this was indeed unfolding the way it was. Kelemvor was indeed giving her permission to do this… to pull her own soul from the Wall of the Faithless, even if it was violation to do so. Something about it made no sense, particularly given Kelemvor’s lawful nature.

Rhaine then shook her head, confusion writ on her countenance. “Forgive me, my lord, but I do not understand. I’ve broken your laws time and again… I must also break them to free my soul. Why are you letting me do this?”

The silver face gazed at her for a few moments in complete silence, and she began to think that he would not answer her. After all, he was under no obligation to provide any sort of explanation for his decisions. She was reminded of Dunstan’s old retort against Matthias, and she inwardly cringed at being so openly questioning of how Kelemvor interpreted _his own laws_.

Finally, however, he spoke again.

“Myrkul’s punishment was… _excessive_ ,” he said, sounding almost as if he were choosing his terminology with great care, “but it is impossible for Akachi to redeem himself as he is, and for me to simply undo the curse would annul the judgment of another god – I am forbidden from that.” His silver countenance cocked a little at her. “But, I saw in _you_ the chance to end the curse… and it seems I was not wrong.”

And then, suddenly, everything began to make sense. From his words, Kelemvor did not approve of the curse – and thus, his predecessor’s method of punishing Akachi – at all. However, due to being bound by universal law, he was not allowed to reverse it himself, even as it was very much within his power to do so. Thus, he had been willing to overlook a few slights on Rhaine’s part in order to both achieve true justice _and_ put an end to what he saw as a much greater threat to mortalkind.

“But I warn you,” he added, his words immediately arresting her attention again, “the Wall does not easily part with its treasures, and it cares little if they are rightfully earned.”

The Doomguide’s brow furrowed, and she glanced back over her shoulder at her soul. There was something about the way he phrased that final sentence that made it sound as if the Wall had a mind of its own, somehow. She turned back, mouth open to ask for clarification…

…but he was gone.

\------------------------------------------------------

It was evident that Kelemvor was leaving her to do what she must, as his involvement had to remain minimal in this situation; he could turn a blind eye and allow her to free her own soul, but that was as much as he could do for her.

Still, it was an incredible boon – one that not only gave her courage to face what came, but eased her fears at last. He was not in opposition to her and never had been.

He was the force _at her back_.

At last, Rhaine stood, weapons in hand and inhaling a deep, steadying breath as she walked back over to the Wall to examine where her soul was imprisoned. The Doomguide squinted at the points where her soul’s hands and feet were held fast. Perhaps, if she could just get her blades underneath those points, she could pry it free from the barbs that secured it there…

“Safiya? Gann? Okku?”

“Yes?” the trio answered simultaneously.

“Watch my back,” she replied simply as she readied her swords.

Gann’s eyes widened. “Wait, you don’t think…?”

“That’s _exactly_ what I’m thinking.”

The threesome moved closer, glancing around the Wall as Rhaine approached her soul. Then, with a grunt, she forcefully stabbed her blades on either side of the soul’s feet.

At once, the Wall quaked violently in response. Plumes of noxious gases burst from it as golems knitted themselves together from its very substance, tearing embedded souls apart with a sickening sound as its guardians manifested to destroy the attacker.

“Don’t worry yourself with them, little one!” Okku called to her. “Just free your soul!”

_Easier said than done…_

Rhaine hacked at the wall, attempting to slice off chunks of mold surrounding her soul’s feet, and it felt as though the Sword of Gith was cutting tree branches as she chopped through the barbs just beneath the surface. Her arms were already so very tired from the endless combat that day, but she could not stop now. Not this close. She could hear Okku’s roars and growls, Safiya’s low chanting of what spells she had remaining, and Gannayev’s call for another elemental’s aid, but she tried to block them all out as she focused on freeing her spirit alone.

At last, the feet came free. Unfortunately, though, in her intense concentration upon that monumental task, she had neglected to notice that the watchtowers along the Wall were actually building up a magical charge. This power very suddenly discharged as a debilitating burst of lightning, slamming straight into her chest and _throwing_ her across the street. Her body was hurled like a ragdoll into the very obelisk where Kelemvor had appeared moments before, and the Doomguide landed with a _clang_ of metal armor, sliding down the stone monument and into a heap on the cobbles below. For a few minutes, she could only cough and pound her chest to try and throw her heart back into rhythm after the violent jolt of electricity.

Gasping as she picked herself back up, she noticed Okku had latched his jaws around the “head” of one of the Wall’s golems and was swinging freely as the thing tried to fling him off of it. Gann had been unceremoniously _hurled_ into the Wall itself and was being cornered by the other golem, until Safiya doused it in magical acid. It was then Rhaine saw her soul yet dangling from the Wall by its hands, and her eyes narrowed.

This had to end. _Now_.

The Doomguide threw herself forward, her limbs burning with pain as her boots pounded the flagstones and she lifted her weapons once more. With a cry, she began hacking away at the Wall again, slashing around her soul’s wrists. Her swings were wild and furious, now, and tears began streaming down her face from the combination of weariness and sheer frustration. With every last ounce of her strength, she sank the blades into the Wall and began prying at the soul.

At long last it came loose, and, as her freed spirit dropped limply to the cobbles, the Wall finally ceased its attacks. The golems collapsed into green dust, and the watchtowers ceased to hum with building energy, leaving only deafening silence. Rhaine’s weapons fell from her hands again with a loud clatter as she sank to her knees beside her soul.

Her entire body shook with fatigue, and her companions fared no better. Okku dropped onto his belly next to her, eyes closed, legs stretched straight out before and behind him. Gann plopped down cross-legged on her other side, bleeding from several wounds to his arms and torso that neither of them had the energy to heal. Safiya moved to kneel next to the soul’s head, and the wizardess struggled to catch her breath.

Then, they all watched with eyes wide as the greenish mold abruptly fell away from the soul, dissolving from the figure as though it had never been. Beneath was a perfect replica of Rhaine’s physical self, right down to the armor she wore, but one that glowed with a warm, golden light. Eyes closed, countenance bearing a serene expression, it almost seemed to call to her, and Rhaine was slightly astonished at how still the spirit-eater was inside of her.

The Doomguide reached out with a trembling hand and touched that mirror of her face. Almost immediately, her soul crumbled away into nothingness, vanishing in a gust of wind with a burst of golden sparks.

Her eyes grew wide in fear, and her heart pounded as she shook her head rapidly. “Oh, no. _No_ …”

But then, suddenly, the wind whipped around her, lifting her from where she had fallen to her knees. It seemed to fill her up, seeping through her nose and mouth – even her _skin_ – with agonizing strength. She gulped for air like a fish out of water, but she could not seem to breathe, to draw any air at all into her lungs. A cacophony of noise rose in her ears, louder and louder and _louder_. She could see Safiya and Gann shouting at her, worry on their faces, but she could not hear them at all. She could only hear the _other_ voices that were filling her head at a maddening rate.

She heard Daeghun calling for her as he often did when she was a child, calling her home from the Mere…the yells of the practice instructor at her temple, demands for more and better… the panicked screams of her former companions as they fled the collapse of Merdelain…

And then, she was unceremoniously dumped onto the ground again, and her world went black.

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine’s eyes fluttered open again.

_“What?!”_

She sat straight up, looking about her frantically.

_Crossroad Keep?_

Only, something was different about it, now. It seemed almost flawless… _pristine_ , even… when it had never looked that way before, not even after all the renovations that had been done at her command. The sky above those familiar towers was strange, as if it were shimmering with an aurora in the daytime. And as she slowly got to her feet, she saw that all of her companions were there, even Bishop.

That was when the Doomguide realized that this was not really Crossroad Keep at all. It was how she _remembered_ it.

Then this was a dream, and nothing more. But why was she dreamwalking _now_ of all times?

Of a sudden, the Red Woman from her previous dreamscapes appeared, running towards her. “Rhaine! There you are. I feared you would not come before _he_ took me. The Faceless Man… he is here!”

“I’ve heard that name before,” the Doomguide said, brow furrowed. “Who is he?”

“ _Akachi_ ,” the woman replied, fear evident in her voice. “Or what is left of him. It is beastly, ravenous, insatiable hunger, and it is running rampant through your soul.” She gestured around herself. “Just like the Boy and I are more than mere memories, this place, too, is more than it seems. It is _you_. Your soul has displaced the hunger, and now it is fighting for control of your body. If you let him destroy any part of your memories, part of _you_ will die as well.”

“Kelemvor said that I needed the mask fragments to heal Akachi,” Rhaine interjected. “How can I do this?”

“They are pieces of _him_ , as I am. I belong to one. The Boy belongs to another. The third is that of the Faceless Man himself. As long as you have all three of them together, he will _fear_ you.

“You will see fragments of his hunger – twisted manifestations of the priest he once was,” she continued. “You _must_ drive them off. Chase the Faceless Man until he can run no more, and then make him _remember_. Use the fragments to force him to face who he is. I will be there for you when that time comes.”

And with that, the Red Woman faded away, leaving Rhaine alone again.

But not for long.

At once, the courtyard of the Keep filled with at least a dozen skeletal Myrkulite priests, all wielding rusted scythes. They attacked the memories of her companions with reckless abandon, seeking only to destroy them. Rhaine drew her blades and dashed to the defense of her friends… her _self_. And with her soul now returned to her, she found her spellcasting strength entirely replenished.

The skeletons quickly surrounded Elanee and threatened to kill her before the Doomguide’s _Flame Strike_ took half of them down in one hit. Rhaine’s sudden strength even in magic came as a surprise, but it also filled her with courage.

Her power may have lain latent within the Wall, but it had certainly not faded.

With the help of her memories, the rest of the Manifestations of Hunger were wiped out to the last, but there was a slight tugging sensation in her gut that indicated this was not over.

Akachi was nearby…

Blades held ready, Rhaine jogged towards the doors of her old Keep, drawn by that restless tug, and the Faceless Man revealed himself at last. He bore no distinct features, nor any sign that he had once been a man, save for his generic humanoid shape. His genderless body shimmered a blinding white, and he wielded a massive black scythe that curved into wicked shapes on either end. Upon his face was a hideous mask with many glowing white eyes, giving him an almost insectoid-like appearance.

And then, the Faceless Man charged at her, faster than she ever would have anticipated. His scythe swung in deadly arcs at her head, and she hunkered low to avoid his powerful blows. Rhaine came in sideways with the Sword of Gith and _Touch of Death_ , taking care to strike only when Akachi had just made a few swings of his own. The Sword of Gith, especially, seemed to bite into his shining white form, and before long, he vanished from the courtyard in a burst of sparks.

The doors of her Keep swung open, then, revealing nothing but a maw of darkness within. She realized that Akachi was running from her now, fleeing deeper into her soul. As the Red Woman instructed, Rhaine gave chase, sprinting into the Keep after him…

When she emerged on the other side, she found herself in a duplication of West Harbor, the memories of her childhood friends facing off with more Manifestations of Hunger. These were stronger than the last, and she very nearly lost both Daeghun and Cormick to their savage wrath. At last, though, the final Manifestation fell, and Akachi appeared once again, this time in the wheat field where she had helped to drive off the Bladelings what seemed like a lifetime ago. The two dueled once more, and the Faceless Man became even wilder in his movements. Rhaine began to see desperation in both his stance and his strikes.

He was afraid.

Finally, she drove him away again. A swirling portal appeared in his wake, but before she could follow him, the Red Woman and Boy appeared before her.

“Wait, Rhaine,” the Red Woman spoke with hand uplifted. “You have pushed the Faceless Man to the deepest reaches of your soul. He has nowhere left to go. It is here that you must make him whole again.”

“Just as the Mask is now whole,” the Boy added.

Rhaine’s brow furrowed in puzzlement, and she opened her pack to retrieve the mask fragments, only to find that the Boy’s words were true. The Mask of the Betrayer was complete once again. It was an exact replica of the mask Akachi himself wore. She took it, the many glowing eyes of that bejeweled and feathered leather almost boring holes into her soul, and a strange feeling came over her as she examined it. “Can I use this against him somehow?”

“The mask will protect you from his hunger,” the Red Woman replied, “which he will no doubt use against you. But you can also turn it on him. Your power knows no bounds within the depths of your soul. Use it to _force_ him into submission.”

“Call upon us,” the Boy continued, “and we will show him what he is.”

Rhaine’s head cocked at the pair, realization slamming into her. “Wait… you _are_ Akachi, too, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” the Red Woman nodded with a faint smile, “we are all that remains of his sanity. We have tried to guide you when we could.”

“We cannot face him with you now, for fear that he will devour us and only become stronger,” the Boy finished, “but we will be there when you need us.”

And with that, the two then vanished again, leaving Rhaine to confront the Faceless Man alone.

She gazed at the Mask of the Betrayer in her hands. Her eyes narrowed, and she steeled herself. This was it. The battle in which she was about to engage would not end until one or the other of them was beaten into submission… and she would _never_ submit until she was dead.

Taking the Mask by the strap, she donned it, her vision slowly adjusting to the limited field provided by the only two functional eye-holes. After a few moments of glancing around, she faced the portal before her and stepped through…

\------------------------------------------------------

The Doomguide emerged in a strangely warm and peaceful place. It was unlike anything she had ever seen – like a cross between a holy sanctuary and a desert paradise. The “sky” was black nothingness, and the “land” was comprised of golden, glittering sand, ringed with tall rock cliffs of what appeared to be solid crystal. However, though the place permeated a sense of calm and serenity, there was also no obvious way to escape. She was effectively trapped here.

Standing just across from her was the Faceless Man again. This time, he was twice his previous size, towering over her with an unmistakable air of menace. He snarled at her – a savage, bestial sound emitting from him – and she found herself subconsciously echoing his growl right back at him. They stood, staring each other down with the same insect-like masks on both their faces.

And then they charged each other, kicking up sand as they went. The two clashed with incredible force, swords against scythe, sparks flying upon impact. Akachi swung fiercely at her head and she ducked, stabbing both blades into his abdomen. The Faceless Man retaliated with a lash of his spirit hunger, draining her energy in a wave of terrible power. But Rhaine answered with her own spirit-eating abilities she had learned to quickly call forth on demand, snatching the energy back… and more.

They exchanged power this way perhaps dozens of times amid a flurry of spells and melee attacks. Though Akachi’s hunger was debilitating, the Mask of the Betrayer did indeed protect Rhaine from its full force, and thus the Doomguide slowly but surely began to gain an edge over the Faceless Man. He was subject to the entire brunt of her power, and her increased control over it made it far more effective… more _focused_.

He was visibly beginning to weaken when, of a sudden, a smaller version of him split off from the whole.

This smaller, quicker manifestation of the Faceless Man was enough to distract her, and the shaft of Akachi’s scythe smacked her squarely in the chest, sending her flying onto her back. Rhaine coughed, as the blow had crushed the air from her lungs, and before she knew it, the smaller manifestation was standing over her, scythe swinging down with impossible speed.

The Doomguide brought both her swords up just in time to parry the awful blow, the tip of the scythe halting mere inches from her throat. Then she bunched her legs under her and planted her feet into the manifestation’s chest, sending it sailing back towards the Faceless Man. While both were at a distance, she followed up with a wicked infliction spell upon her foes, turning the small copy to dust and wounding Akachi. The Faceless Man, however, had taken the opportunity to completely heal himself while she was down, and thus the wound was certainly nothing to cry victory over.

Again and again she drained his strength, and again and again Akachi used a copy of himself to distract her while he healed in full. The fight seemed to go on for an eternity, and as the battle wore on, Rhaine noticed that, even in this spiritual state, she was slowly getting weaker. At some point, _something_ had to give…

But then, at last, a mighty blow from both her swords at once sent the Faceless Man sprawling into the sand. She stood over him, prepared to strike again, when she noticed that he had dropped his hold on his wicked scythe. He bent over before her, his neck exposed – much like an animal would behave when beaten into submission. And it was then that she saw him for what he was: a slave to a hunger he neither understood nor had any control over. Certain that he would fight back no longer, she sheathed her weapons.

Remembering the words of the Red Woman, she turned her focus upon the Mask of the Betrayer, calling forth the memories of the woman and the Boy, beckoning to them. After a few moments, they appeared beside her, looking down at the Faceless Man alongside her.

“You are Akachi.” The Red Woman said softly. “You were once my love.”

“And you are my brother,” the Boy added, “who gave me my name.”

“And you are the Betrayer,” the woman finished, “who led a Crusade against his god and died in the Wall in my stead. Remember, and be whole again.”

At her words, a golden light swirled around the Red Woman, the Boy, and the Faceless Man, and all three abruptly vanished from Rhaine’s soul. For a few moments, there was nothing but overwhelming silence in the aftermath, calm permeating her being, before darkness consumed her world once more.


	35. Denouement

Rhaine could feel her body lying flat on the cobbles of the City of Judgment. Her back ached horribly, as if she had lain in the same position for hours on end. Her limbs were heavy, like they had been weighted down with lead, and it took all of her strength to swim her way out of the deep blackness into which she had sunk. After what seemed like an immense effort, she at last began to stir, and she could hear her companions’ anxious voices as they noticed her movement.

“Look! She’s waking up!”

“Careful, don’t touch her! There’s no telling what’s happened to her.”

“I no longer smell the hunger upon her…”

The Doomguide groaned as she turned her head, trying to shake off the last vestiges of her slumber. At last, her eyes slowly opened, and she was staring up at the blank sky of the Fugue Plane, the Crystal Spire towering above. The Mask of the Betrayer was still on her face, and she reached up to snatch it off, throwing it aside. She inhaled deeply after, as if the Mask had stifled her breathing.

Safiya’s countenance abruptly hovered sideways above her own with wide hazel eyes. “Welcome back! Gave us quite a scare, you did. Are you all right?”

Gann’s face then appeared opposite the Red Wizard’s, staring down at her with his own blue gaze. “Is it done then? Is it… over?”

Rhaine smiled back at them weakly. “It’s done. The spirit-eater is no more, and Akachi is free. I’m more than a little tired, but none the worse for wear, it seems.”

She tried to get up, but she found she did not have the strength to lift her armored body from the ground. Gann and Safiya took her by the arms and pulled her to her feet, supporting the Doomguide as her legs threatened to buckle under her from weakness. Okku, too, pressed himself to her to brace her, looking up into her face with his golden eyes shining. “You did it, little one. I knew you could.”

At that moment, it hit her. She _had_ done it. The hunger was gone; she was no longer hollow and cold inside… there was no more presence eternally writhing within her. It was over. Her great ordeal was over, and she could finally go _home_.

Rhaine was filled with an indescribable giddiness. She began giggling uncontrollably, her eyes filling with tears at the same time as joy and relief in equal measure flooded her being. Moreover, she felt that humming strength within her again, one that she had foolishly taken for granted prior to her curse – the power of her own soul and her connection to her god had returned at last. It was enough to make those tears spill past her eyelids and course down her cheeks in rivers.

Safiya and Gann, too, began to laugh their happiness, even as they comforted Rhaine amidst the torrent of emotions that had overtaken her. They all wrapped their arms around each other in a tight embrace for several long moments.

After a few minutes, though, Safiya pulled away and cleared her throat loudly, as if in warning. Rhaine quickly wiped her eyes. There was a strange, indescribable feeling in the atmosphere – one that the Doomguide had not sensed before – and her head began to throb, nausea haunting the pit of her stomach…

“The curse is finished. The Betrayer’s suffering has come to an _end_.”

Rhaine moved away from her companions and bowed deeply to Kelemvor once more, who had reappeared in the same place as before. And this time, he sounded more than a little pleased... perhaps even relieved.

“You have restored Akachi’s soul – done what gods thought beyond their power,” he continued proudly. “He has gone to his Judgment… to the fate that _should_ have been his had Myrkul not intervened: not to lie within the Wall of the Faithless, but to finally find rest amongst the False. And as for Myrkul himself, the dark god’s soul will fade and pass into nothingness, as he _deserves_.”

She had not failed to notice the note of triumph in Kelemvor’s tone. Rhaine knew as well as he did that this was not just her own victory, but also a political one for the new Lord of the Dead, further solidifying his hold upon his throne.

Rhaine smiled widely and dipped her head to him. “I’m glad to have played my part – for order and justice. I am, however, sorry that so many had to die for it to happen.”

“None of my Faithful can truly perish within the bounds of my realm,” Kelemvor replied with a shake of his head, “and as for those who joined the Crusade, they knew what they risked. The blame for their deaths is not yours.”

She glanced away momentarily, briefly wondering what kind of trouble that would bring her down the road. The god must have sensed her thoughts, as he added knowingly, “In smashing the Crusade, you have no doubt gained many enemies, from Mount Celestia to the Abyss. The forces of good, evil, and chaos all will see you as a nemesis standing in the way of their goals.

“But _my_ gratitude will always be yours,” he added, inclining his head in a distinctly graceful gesture. “Your actions here have earned you an honored place in my realm, and when you finally return to my gates, you may accept those honors… or walk a different path, as you choose.”

Hot tears very suddenly resurfaced as Rhaine’s mouth dropped open before she forcibly shut it again. Did his generosity know no bounds? Not only would he not deem her False, but he would also _reward_ her in eternity with a place of honor? Let her _choose_ what she wanted?

“I-I… thank you, my lord,” she managed in a stammering whisper. She was so overwhelmed, a lump constricting her throat, that she could say no more. It was taking every ounce of her control not to fall weeping before him.

He nodded once. “But above all else, your struggle has won you freedom – from the shard in your chest and from the ravening presence in your soul. What you do with your newfound coin, and whom you spend it with… that is yours to decide.”

A small laugh escaped her at that last remark, and the Doomguide could not help but grin. It was then that she felt Gann loop an arm about her neck beside her, and the hagspawn gave her a mischievous smirk. “What your god says about newfound coin… I have a good idea of how to spend it. There are sacred glades in Rashemen where ones who have accomplished what we have can be… _indulged_ … in the spirit world. But that would require you to endure my presence just a bit longer.”

Safiya, too, smiled warmly. “Now that Akachi has been given rest, I no longer hear this voice driving me to complete the Founder’s work. It is not yet time for me to return to the Academy. I’ve grown far too fond of traveling with you, and I wish to continue to do so… if you will have me, of course.”

Okku then looked up at Rhaine. “You have shown me what it is like to feel the call of wanderlust again. Now that I am free of my oath, I can do what I please. Where to next, little one?”

“My realm lies at the center of all things,” Kelemvor addressed her again, arms outstretched. “Infinite doors are open to you. Return to the Prime, if you like, or set your eyes on some other plane.”

Rhaine chuckled. “As inviting as the opportunity to travel to distant worlds is, my lord, I do believe I’ve had enough of planeswalking for a lifetime. I need to go home.”

He nodded. “As you wish. Return to the Betrayer’s Gate, and I shall seal the doors behind you.”

At that, the Doomguide hesitated. She knew that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and if there was anything she wanted to know that Kelemvor could answer, now was the time to ask. And there were more than a few things that still bothered her…

“My lord, if you would allow it, I _would_ like to speak with you about a few things more before I leave,” she said finally, looking up at the silver countenance.

Kelemvor stood in silence for a few moments, as if contemplating her request, before at last answering with a dip of his head, “I will allow it.”

She offering another bow of thanks and gestured to her companions. “Go back to the portal. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

They seemed a little reluctant to leave her behind, but they did as she bade, turning to follow the Wall back to the Supplicants’ Gate. All the while, she watched them go, sighing heavily and wondering where to begin…


	36. Redemption

The City of Judgment was eerily silent, now. Finally, what fires had started from the siege had been extinguished, and everything was returning to normal – or, what was normal for the Fugue. There was a slight chill in the air, and she shivered as she looked around. Even now, the Doomguide could hardly believe where she was standing and how she had come to be here. It was strangely beautiful, in its cold and grey serenity. When the time came, she would spend her eternity here, continuing to serve her god as a guardian of the City or as an escort for the resident spirits. She wondered how many others could be so certain of their afterlife… how many others had glimpsed where they would rest in the hereafter.

Rhaine was quiet for many moments, thinking about what she wanted to say and how precisely she wanted to say it. She retrieved her weapons from where they lay and sheathed them, also picking up the Mask of the Betrayer from the cobbles and brushing the dust from it. It no longer felt odd to her… simply a piece of dyed, jeweled, and feathered hide was all it was. The ghostly white glow had left the many eyes, and now it appeared relatively unassuming, if a bit grotesque. Akachi’s remnants had been freed from it, and so its power had at last vanished.

Her unexplainable giddiness had yet to dissipate. This was coupled with an ever-growing headache and increased nausea. Not only that, but all of her old memories were now painfully fresh in her mind – her worry, her anger, her fear, her grief and her sadness. All of the emotions that had built up over the past couple of years, everything that she had kept suppressed for the sake of duty, came crashing around her shoulders with an almost unbearable intensity. She found that she was perpetually fighting back more hot tears, as if she were on the brink of completely losing her composure.

Kelemvor motioned for her to follow him, reminding her that she should not loiter. “You have questions.” It was more of a statement than an inquiry.

She began walking beside and slightly behind him, feeling not unlike a puppy eagerly tailing a larger dog. Wincing, she rubbed her temples with her fingers and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Firstly, I think I must know… why do I feel as though I’m drunk?”

There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “You are.”

She quickened her pace to keep up with him, noticing that she had to take three steps for every one of his. “What do you mean, my lord?”

“Have you been parted from your soul for so long that you have forgotten how it functions?” he replied. “You gain your divine power directly from me, and this power replenishes itself in the same manner. Due to being in such close proximity to your energy source, the process has been shortened considerably. What would normally take eight hours or longer to complete is being accomplished in a span of mere minutes. Simply put, you _are_ , in every sense of the word, intoxicated.”

It was certainly an amusing notion, and she found herself chuckling at the thought, but Rhaine then understood that this headache and queasiness would not subside until she left the Fugue Plane far behind her…

As he slowly led her back through the city, she could not stop herself from glancing at his silver-clad face. The Doomguide wondered how he could even see where he was going with that mask. Yet, at the same time, she also knew that he likely did not need eyes to see nor ears to hear. Still, she pondered what the purpose was behind such a mask. Was it simply symbolic? Or did it provide aid through an enchantment, perhaps?

“Why do you - ?” Rhaine began suddenly, but then she cut herself off, thinking the better of her inquiry and falling silent again. She cursed herself for even opening her mouth. Such a question could be deemed highly inappropriate; how easily she forgot herself and to whom she was speaking…

“Wear a mask?” he finished. He stopped, turned and looked down at her, and she could feel his gaze boring a hole through her again. She halted abruptly and gulped, sincerely wishing she had not said a single word.

“Considering how many times you have encountered masks and their purposes during your journeys,” Kelemvor continued quietly, “I believe you already know the answer.”

He remained unmoving, then, as if expecting to hear her hypothesis. She sighed as she thought. She had indeed been faced with a great many masks, both literal and metaphorical, in both Rashemen and beyond. Magda’s actors wore garish masks. The Wychlaran wore elaborate animal masks. Akachi the Betrayer had worn a terrifying mask – the very mask she held in her hands. Kaelyn had worn a mask as well… not a literal one, of course, but a façade of innocence and virtue. Myrkul had even called _her_ a mask; in a sense, she, too, had been the Mask of the Betrayer, as she was one of the many faces that Akachi’s hunger had donned over the centuries.

Rhaine stood there, gazing up at the silver visage. She took in all of the details she could: the high sheen, the delicate swirls of engraving and embossing, the subtle sternness of the expression, the flawless symmetry. Such a seemingly simple adornment was captivating in its beauty and perfection. But it was not _just_ a mask. It had _meaning_.

The actors of the Veil wore masks to become the characters they represented while on stage. The Wychlaran wore masks to physically _be_ the Witches they called themselves – the highest representatives of the spirits of Rashemen. Kaelyn wore a mask of innocence and virtue to become the righteous crusader… the idealistic champion of a seemingly doomed cause. Akachi wore a mask to transform himself into the Betrayer – to leave behind the trappings of his priesthood and thus, his ties to Myrkul. His hunger took a mask because it had no face of its own and sought to _become_ that mask, only to destroy itself in the process.

If Kelemvor’s mask was no different than any of these, literal or figurative, then she did, indeed, have her answer.

Steeling herself, she began, “You wear a mask to become what it symbolizes. For you, it is the emotionless judge… a judge who is fair and just, and who is never biased… a judge who does not see man, woman, or child, only the spirit within… a judge who bestows his verdicts to all souls equally and by the rule of law alone.”

There was a long pause. Neither of them moved, but simply stared at each other. At last, Kelemvor broke the silence, dipping his head in acknowledgement of her words. “You are wise beyond your years, Rhaine Alcinea.”

She let out her breath, only now realizing that she had been holding it as she waited for his response. Yet her mind filled with even more questions. Why, all of a sudden, did she feel like some sort of exception to the rules? This thought yet haunted her, even after all that had just transpired…

“My lord, forgive me, but I still do not understand,” she replied with a shake of her head, glancing away. “If what I said was true… I-I broke your laws repeatedly… no matter how big or small they were, I committed transgressions against you… and yet you offer me a place of honor at your side. You… you act as if none of it ever happened…”

“Do you _seek_ punishment?” Kelemvor asked rather bluntly.

Her eyes widened and she stiffened, completely silent.

“Matters are hardly ever black and white, Rhaine – you know this,” the god continued, his tone thankfully yet devoid of any annoyance. “You speak of judgments, but such judgments must be tempered with mercy… and with the common sense to understand circumstances. This was something that Myrkul did not possess. He allowed his anger to override his reason, put himself above his own laws, and exacted vengeance without looking at the situation from a true judge’s eye. Akachi was, at his very worst, a False soul. He was never Faithless, and thus he should never have touched the Wall. Yet Myrkul was so intent on avenging the slight against him that he created a monster only existent through broken laws… a monster that, in the end, _consumed_ him.

“Neither mortals nor gods are above the law, and there are many among both who would be wise to heed such a warning. It is something that neither Kaelyn nor Myrkul could understand. You broke my laws, yes. You violated my doctrine, yes. Had you possessed your soul when you committed these acts, you _would_ be seen as False.

“But you were driven by _circumstance_. I know that you, had you been in proper possession of your soul, never would have contemplated doing such deeds – that the only reason you committed them was to _retrieve_ your soul, which had wrongfully taken Akachi’s place in the Wall due to reasons far beyond your control. I also know that you never _intended_ to betray me, and _that_ is where the crux of the matter lies. I heard the words you spoke before my gates. I saw you stand with my servants against the leaders of the Crusade. Your loyalties were never in question.

“Do I believe in acts of redemption? Yes. And if redemption is what you have sought, you have found it. You chose to stand with me, against impossible odds, despite the mounting pressure from those around you and the lure of a seemingly noble cause. You risked your very existence to put an end to an unjust curse that perpetuated a dead god’s wrath upon generations of mortals. What you have done this day is more than enough to repay me for any trespasses you might have committed to arrive here.”

The floodgates broke. She had already been teetering precariously on the brink of emotional breakdown, and his words successfully pushed her over the edge. The tears poured from her eyes again in hot streams, and her weak legs failed support her shaking form. Rhaine sank to her knees in front of him, burying her face in her hands and uncontrollably sobbing. Overwhelming joy, relief, and shame washed over her in powerful waves.

Kelemvor sighed, though his voice was gentle. “You judge yourself more harshly than I ever would.”

“I know, milord… I’m sorry,” she managed to squeak.

“Cease your apologies.”

There was something about the way he said it that turned her sobs into irrepressible giggles once more. She felt undeniably, unavoidably _stupid_. What had she expected? For Kelemvor to be as merciless as Kaelyn had painted him to be? Had she allowed the half-celestial’s words – and those of Myrkul – to taint what she had been taught about him her entire life?

Her thoughts wandered to High Father Gerard, who had hung his hopes on the possibility of redemption through _her_.

She stood again, fighting a blush of sheer embarrassment all the while. Then, clearing her throat uncomfortably and drying her eyes, she added, “You speak of redemption, milord. If I may ask… did High Father Gerard ever find his?”

“It was found before he ever passed from the Prime. He brought _you_ into my fold, and that is redemption enough.”

The Doomguide found that blush manifesting in full. She was about to open her mouth to speak again when a grating voice suddenly permeated the air, unknown to her.

_“My liege?”_

Rhaine glanced around to find the source of the strange voice, finally spotting a darkly robed figure heading towards them. Its garb was in tatters, the hood up, nothing but darkness within. A pair of crimson eyes glowed beneath the cowl, disconcerting in their unblinking gaze. The figure had no feet or legs, and so appeared to float in their direction, gliding over the narrow street with an alien grace.

“Yes, Jergal?” Kelemvor inquired.

The Doomguide froze. So _this_ was the original holder of the office of death… or what he had become. She knew that he was only a shadow of what he had once been, but his presence still caused her to shudder involuntarily.

 _“The last of the invaders have been routed from the City,”_ Jergal rasped, his voice rather impassive. _“Do you wish your paladins to pursue them beyond the Fugue?”_

“No,” Kelemvor replied. “Let them flee.”

 _“As you wish, my liege,”_ the figure answered with a bow. His scarlet eyes settled on Rhaine for a few moments before he vanished from their presence entirely.

Kelemvor resumed his walking. “Come.”

She obeyed. They continued on in complete silence for several minutes. Rhaine’s eyes fell upon the Wall of the Faithless again, and her thoughts trailed to Bishop. The ranger did not have her pity. In fact, she believed he had gotten what he deserved. His betrayal had cost dozens of lives, and he had not felt guilty about it in the least. And as she recalled many things that Bishop had said in both life and death, she suddenly realized that he had actually gotten what he _wanted_.

He was not naïve. He had always been a Faithless soul, and he _knew_ what awaited him in the afterlife. As a Doomguide, she was a constant reminder of where he was going, and he _wanted_ that fate. He wanted death, so he could sink into oblivion and never feel again. How many others trapped in the Wall shared that same mindset? How many did not fear their eventual obliteration, but _welcomed_ it?

Thinking about Bishop inevitably led to her to wonder about her other companions. Ammon’s account of the events in Merdelain was not much better than her own, and she was concerned that he might have been mistaken about many of her comrade’s fates. Kelemvor’s knowledge, however, would not be so skewed.

“My lord,” she began at length, “I encountered one of my old allies not long ago, and he told me what he knew about the others of my company… how they fared after the battle…”

“You wish to know if his account was correct,” Kelemvor finished for her.

“Yes, milord,” she answered with a nod.

There was a pause before he replied, “Ammon Jerro was correct in his assessment of the situation… except for the fate of one. The paladin you knew as Casavir did not perish within the walls of Merdelain. He was pulled from the ruins by the rest of your living comrades and healed of his injuries. He now continues to serve at Crossroad Keep, in your name.”

She sighed, closing her eyes briefly. It was a relief to know that the noble paladin had not died there after all. Her only regret was not being there to help them in the aftermath… and to save Grobnar.

The Doomguide then briefly thought of her mother, who had also been the victim of a sad fate. She even wondered about her father – her real flesh-and-blood father. Daeghun had told her so little about Esmerelle, and she had heard nothing at all about her mother’s partner. Kelemvor would know about both of them…

…but Rhaine kept her silence. Some things were meant to stay mysteries. Perhaps there was a reason that she did not know more than she did about her true parents. In her early years, she had Daeghun as a faithful – albeit cold – guardian, and for six years Father Dunstan had always treated her like his own beloved daughter. Besides, asking Kelemvor about too much would feel like exploitation on her part. Taking advantage of him any more than she already had would be exceedingly impertinent.

At last, they caught up with the companions, who waited for her where they had originally emerged beyond the City. She nodded to them, and Okku, Gann, and Safiya proceeded into the portal yet left behind by the Betrayer’s Gate. Before she followed them into it, however, Rhaine felt she had one last thing to do.

“My lord, I have one final thing to ask of you, if you will allow it,” she said, turning back towards Kelemvor.

“Yes?”

Sighing, she unbuckled the Sword of Gith from her waist, extending both it and the Mask of the Betrayer toward him. “I cannot depart this plane with these in my possession. For one, this sword is no longer a part of me. Without the shard in my chest, I have no connection to it. It is just another weapon to me, powerful or no. It has served its purpose, I think, and I need it no longer. Above all, however, I think that if it were to accidentally fall into the hands of another, and that someone managed to open this Gate again with it, I would never forgive myself.

“And as for the Mask, it is no longer relevant to me, either. It belonged to Akachi, and he will forever remain on the Fugue. To be honest, I do not want to possess such a reminder of our suffering, and I would like to think that he would agree with me.”

The two items instantly vanished from her grasp. She had to blink a few times to make sure they were gone, so suddenly had they disappeared.

“As you wish. They will be kept in the vaults of Eternity’s End until they are deemed necessary to surface on the Prime once again,” Kelemvor acquiesced.

Rhaine simply nodded. With that, she approached the shining black portal, the god’s reflection visible behind her upon its slightly rippling surface. The Doomguide then half turned, smiling over her shoulder at him. “Farewell, my lord. And thank you… for _everything_.”

The Lord of the Dead inclined his head to her, “Until we speak again, Rhaine Alcinea… and I do not think that will be long.”

Rhaine’s smile widened into a grin.


	37. Abdication

When the familiar lurching sensation of teleportation stopped, Rhaine found herself and her companions not within Myrkul’s Vault again, but deposited inside the Temple of Kelemvor in Mulsantir. Almost immediately, the lingering sense of giddiness and nausea dissipated, leaving only warm calm in its wake. A loud popping noise resounded through the nave as the planar portal snapped shut behind her, and, consequently, Brother Darovik burst from his private chambers only moments later with his sword drawn and at the ready. There were a few seconds of awkward silence before that blade, so much like hers, clattered to the tiled floor. The priest rushed then to the Doomguide’s side with wide grey eyes, seizing her by the shoulders and searching her face with almost frantic excitement.

“By the grace of Kelemvor, you… you have returned! We _prayed_ for you, sister, and it seems our pleas were heard! You are alive, and… and what happened?” the Rashemi’s questions, between their speed and his accent, came out as an almost incomprehensible flood – such an amusing contrast to his usual somber demeanor. “Did you do it? What of the curse?”

At this point, a bleary-eyed Yusev entered the nave as well, and the young acolyte hovered around the altar with mild interest. An occasional yawn suggested that he had been sound asleep – the group must have returned in the middle of the night. All the while, her companions departed the temple quietly, likely so as to let the Doomguide have a private reunion with her fellow faithful.

Rhaine squeezed the priest’s arm gently, answering him with a soft smile. “It is _done_ , Darovik. The spirit-eater is no more, and Akachi has at last found rest.”

It was then that Darovik’s mouth split into a wide grin, and his eyes sparkled with unbridled joy. “That is… more than I could have hoped for! I am so glad, for you and for all of Rashemen! But tell me, what of the Crusade that was inevitably called by your sword?”

“Stopped by that same sword,” she replied with a nod. “Akachi’s generals are no more, and Kaelyn the ‘Dove’ has been taken to Mount Celestia, never again to trespass on the Fugue. In the end, she turned against me and our god, and she paid the price for her insolence. As for the blade itself, it now rests in the vaults of Eternity’s End under Kelemvor’s watchful eye, so that no more Crusades may be called in the future.”

She then saw him open his mouth to ask another question, his brow furrowing, but she already knew what it was and she patted him reassuringly. “Fear not for my soul, brother. Kelemvor and I parted on… well, rather excellent terms in all actuality. All is well between us. Truly, it is as if nothing ever happened.”

Darovik laughed aloud in elation upon hearing those words, at last pulling her to him. He embraced her fiercely, clapping her upon the back repeatedly. “No matter what anyone else might say, you have brought great honor to our church and to our god. You are truly the greatest of us all. No one else could have accomplished what you have this day and lived to tell the tale. No other of our order could ever hope to aspire to your level of esteem. You are blessed in more ways than you realize, my sister.”

“Aye,” Rhaine agreed, inclining her head as she pushed back from him. “Blessed indeed. Give thanks to our god this night, good brother, for without him I would not be standing here, speaking with you. If anyone here is deserving of praise, it is he.”

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The morning was not long away, and when dawn tinted the sky pink and gold, the companions left their temporary refuge at the Sloop to deliver the good news to the Wychlaran. The Witches, like Darovik, were absolutely overjoyed to hear of Rhaine’s success, and they hailed her and her allies as heroes. At their decree, for the next tenday, the Rashemi citizens of Mulsantir celebrated the companions’ legendary success. Every night was filled with jubilant feasting, drinking, dancing, and extravagant spiritual ceremonies in honor of their deeds.

The Doomguide herself, however, was not a part of those festivities. According to the Witches, she and her companions had, whilst on the Fugue, been gone for three days straight. It was little wonder, then, why Rhaine felt so fatigued upon her return. Thus, she politely declined to participate in the celebratory activities and remained in her room at the Sloop, only emerging to take her meals. Her body was thoroughly exhausted from everything that had happened in the past months, and her recovery was slow. Yet – little by little, day by day – her strength returned. Her regained memories gradually sank to the back of her mind once again, and she was able to sleep without dreaming.

It was a blissful and welcome respite.

However, even isolated as she was, the bustle of the city grated on the Doomguide’s tender nerves. Gannayev sensed Rhaine’s desire for true solitude and peace, away from prying eyes, and so he took her and their friends on a trip to some of the most secluded – and most beautiful – places in Rashemen to heal her soul. For the first time since she arrived, she was able to appreciate the cold beauty of this rugged country. In what places where telthors resided, they too offered their thanks to the Doomguide and their Bear King for the end of the terrible spirit-eater curse.

Ultimately, it was in these wilds that Rhaine and Gannayev finally parted ways. She expressed her interest in at last heading home to the Sword Coast, and the dreamwalker wished to remain in the land that fostered him. And as she and Safiya made their way back to Mulsantir, Okku took his leave of them too; the great Bear King returned to his ancient barrow where, his oath now fulfilled in truth, eternal slumber awaited him until such time as the land needed him once more.

The Red Wizard and the Doomguide remained at the Veil theatre for another tenday afterwards, where the former hatched a plan to return Rhaine to the Sword Coast as quickly as she had been snatched from it. Safiya labored day and night in Lienna’s workshop, all the while the Rashemi dropped by from time to time to ply their heroine with parting gifts – mostly gold or small baubles. In all honesty, Rhaine had no desire for material reward, yet she could not refuse them for fear of insulting the people and the Wychlaran. Thus, by the time the wizardess had finished her work, Rhaine’s pack and purse were full to bursting with coin and treasures of all sorts.

At last, however, the Doomguide could return to her beloved homeland. With Rhaine’s aid in pinpointing its location, Safiya had successfully warped one of the many portals in the Shadow Veil to link with the Illefarn Song Portal in the ruins of Arvahn, northeast of Neverwinter. Rhaine would still have a ways to walk to get back to Waterdeep, but it would reduce the length of her journey from many months to a handful of days.

As the Doomguide stood before the glimmering portal, which hummed faintly with the familiar song of Illefarn magic, an overwhelming sense of relief overcame her. She was finally going home.

“Well, there you are,” Safiya said with a grin, obviously proud of her handiwork. “The Sword Coast is only a few steps away.”

Rhaine smiled, tears filling her eyes, and she embraced the Red Wizard fiercely in gratitude. “Thank you, Safiya. For everything. I would not have survived this land, and this curse, without you.” Then, pushing back, she searched her friend’s hazel eyes. “Are you sure you won’t come along with me? I’m certain you would love the Coast.”

At that, the wizardess laughed lightly. “As much as I would like to, I can’t leave the Academy untended any longer. There’s no telling _what’s_ happened to the place since we left – to the students and Master Djafi. Mother… I mean, the _Founder_ … would not have wanted the Academy to fall into disrepair, and her work is too precious to abandon. Not after all she went through to achieve it. Besides,” she grinned, “I have an obligation to empty that soul repository, like I promised you.”

The Doomguide mirrored her expression, dipping her head in thanks. “I appreciate that, Safiya. Very much.”

It was then that Kaji hovered over, settling upon Rhaine’s shoulder and looking at her with shining black eyes in his clay face. “So… is this when we say goodbye?”

She smiled softly at the homunculus. “I suppose so, Kaji.”

He promptly wrapped his little clay arms and wings around her neck, squeezing as tightly as his minute frame would allow. “Goodbye, not spirit-eater. I’ll miss you lots.”

Rhaine patted his tiny back. “I’ll miss you a lot too, Kaji. Just promise me one thing, will you?”

“Sure!” Kaji exclaimed, hovering once again with a flap of his batlike wings. “What?”

The Doomguide’s smile widened. “Promise me you won’t steal from the golems anymore.”

Kaji’s face wrinkled. “But-”

Safiya tapped him gently with her staff.

He sighed heavily. “Okay. I promise.”

Rhaine nodded once, satisfied. Then, turning back to Safiya, she bowed slightly. “Farewell, Mistress Safiya. May fortune continue to smile upon you.”

The Red Wizard inclined her head in response. “And you, Rhaine Alcinea.”

And with that, the Doomguide stepped through the portal and at last departed the wild and barbaric land of Rashemen.

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Rhaine walked westward from Arvahn to the northern stretch of the High Road, where she began to head south to Neverwinter. Along the way, she overheard snippets of travelers’ conversations, and she learned much of what had happened on the Sword Coast while she was on the other side of the continent. Most of the information she gleaned was not good, and this greatly influenced her ultimate resolution concerning her affiliation with Neverwinter; in the end, she made up her mind to sever her connections with the City of Tyr for good.

In the months that she had been away from the Coast, Lord Nasher had foolishly let Port Llast fall into Luskan hands, and so it had been up to a band of ragtag adventurers to save the small town from the abuse of the Hosttower. He had also neglected to send soldiers to look for the Knight-Captain after her defeat of the King of Shadows.

Thus, the Doomguide’s respect for Nasher vanished. Upon her arrival in Castle Never, she promptly announced her abdication of her position as Knight-Captain of Crossroad Keep, informing the Lord of Neverwinter that she had originally set out at the behest of her temple superior, and it was to this temple that she was now going to return. Rhaine was, first and foremost, a priestess – not a knight, a lady, nor a servant of Neverwinter City. She made no mention of where she had been, nor did she feel obliged to do so. Her decision made and her message delivered, she departed the city as abruptly as she had arrived… never to return.

On her way out of the stunned court, however, she was happily reunited with Sand and Neeshka, both of whom appeared none the worse for wear. Sand’s shop had been relocated to the more illustrious Merchant Quarter, and Neeshka was now the head of a professional thieves guild… rivaling that of the fabled Shadow Thieves of Amn. It was from these two that she learned of Qara’s current trial against her traitor of a father, one that they were assisting the sorceress with by finding and compiling key information to utilize in court. They also told her of Khelgar’s recent appointment as Steward of Crossroad Keep, a position granted to him in Rhaine’s absence. With her permission, they traveled with her to the Keep, plying her with questions concerning where she had been, but to no avail. She would not speak of her whereabouts or her experiences, not even to her closest comrades – the wounds were still too fresh.

By this time, word had begun to spread all along the northern Sword Coast that the legendary Knight-Captain had returned. Total strangers hailed her as a friend, and many asked her for blessings or small tokens, as if she were a saint of some sort. Upon her arrival at her Keep, she discovered that many things had changed to it as well… and some not for the better. The farmlands had been expanded, as had the mining operations. The fortress was now more of a small city than a military base, boasting merchant representatives from all over the nearby holds. A new prominent mercantile house had taken up headquarters within the keep itself, and this business had turned Crossroad Keep into the economic powerhouse of the northern Sword Coast.

But it was no longer the Crossroad Keep she knew. What had made it the castle she loved was the people, most of whom were now gone. Casavir had remained, as Kelemvor had told her, but he was constantly leading distant road and land patrols. Bevil was promoted to a commanding position and reassigned to remote outposts like Old Owl Well. Kana, her lieutenant, had abandoned the keep, seeking her own way after Rhaine had disappeared. Many of the soldiers and volunteers had retired or simply left, including Edario the smith, Casavir’s sergeant Katriona, and even Sal the barkeep. The church of Tyr had been converted to that of Waukeen… wealth now being valued more than justice. It was quite telling, and it confirmed that Rhaine’s decision to leave Neverwinter forever was indeed the right one.

Khelgar, when he saw his beloved Knight-Captain in the company of Sand and Neeshka once again, fell to his knees and wept. The brash dwarf had become quite emotional in the aftermath of the second Shadow War, and he bore physical marks of his ordeal – in the collapse of Merdelain, his face had been scarred even more than it had been before. He told her the details about the aftermath of the ruin’s fall over several tankards of mead at the Phoenix Tail, but never once did he pry into her own disappearance. Perhaps he had sensed that she truly did not wish to speak of it…

When the dwarf learned of her formal abdication of her position, he, too, promptly abandoned his post as Steward of the castle. He exchanged his Neverwinter Nine tunic for his old monk’s robes once again and left a short letter of explanation to Sir Nevalle in the hands of a courier.

Here, Rhaine was also reunited with Angel, her beloved white mare, who had apparently pined for her mistress in the months that the Doomguide had been gone… refusing to let anyone touch her in Rhaine’s absence. When Angel saw her rider again, however, the mare was giddy with excitement, clamoring to get out of her stall and into the wide world again. Rhaine more than happily obliged her.

Together with her horse and her three good friends, Rhaine continued her journey south, heading towards Fort Locke. There, Neeshka and Sand at last parted ways with her and bid her their sincerest farewells, as it was likely they would never meet again. Khelgar and the Doomguide then continued on to West Harbor, and for a while, it was just the pair of them.

It was on the fringes of the Mere of Dead Men, however, that they were greeted by Elanee. The druidess was now the Elder of a new Circle of the Mere, having found recruits after the shadows were driven from the swamp. She and her new band were sworn to help travelers who became lost in the depths of the Mere, in addition to being stalwart vigilantes against any remaining servants of shadow. Elanee joined them for a ways to help speed their journey, though the wood elf spoke little; she retreated into the swamps again as they approached the village, giving the dwarf and Doomguide her final goodbyes.

It was only a matter of seconds before she vanished into the mists of the Mere once more.

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West Harbor was nothing like it had been when Rhaine was a little girl. The place was now fortified with a massive palisade wall and watchtowers. The population had, surprisingly enough, grown significantly in the past few months… likely due to an influx of Neverwintan and Highcliff refugees. It was also a new and popular caravan stop now that the town’s famous Harvest Mead was being exported.

Out of the original inhabitants of the village, only Tarmas the wizard, Lazlo Buckman, and Daeghun Farlong remained. Rhaine’s reunion with her foster father was bittersweet – with her presumed death, he had obviously realized his neglect to her in the past, and his greeting was tearful… more emotional than the Doomguide had ever seen him. Yet, though she was glad to see Daeghun alive and well, she found she did not share in his joy. Not truly. After so many years of nothing but almost cold passiveness from the ranger, his sudden affection felt odd, and though she tried, Rhaine found herself unable to return it in full. Thus, her stay in the village was short-lived. After only two days of rest, she departed for Waterdeep once more.

She would never return.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Well, lass, this is where I leave ye,” Khelgar said at last, sliding from his spot on the saddle behind the Doomguide and plopping to the ground beside Angel. For a minute, he simply stood there, admiring the Sword Coast sunset… the brilliant pinks and oranges turning the Sea of Swords to liquid fire and illuminating the far-distant walls of Waterdeep in glittering gold.

Rhaine nodded her understanding. “It has been good to travel with you again, friend.”

“Aye, and with you as well,” Khelgar answered with a grin, his teeth shining in his beard and more than a few of them missing. “But I really should get back to my clanhold. You taught me what happens when a dwarf neglects his people for too long. My place isn’t here anymore, but with the Ironfists.”

The Doomguide’s emerald eyes shone as she smiled upon her old companion. “Then may the Morndinsamman watch over you and guide you on your journey, Khelgar.”

“And you, Knight-Captain. No matter what they, you, or anyone says, you’ll always be the Knight-Captain to me,” he replied, bowing to her before turning eastward towards the foothills of the Sword Mountains.

Rhaine’s eyes filled with tears as she watched him go, making sure he got as far as she could see without need for aid. Her journey had started with Khelgar at her side, and now it finished with him leaving it. And as she turned back towards the High Road with a tremulous sigh, looking southwards at the speck of glitter that was Waterdeep on the far horizon, she realized that a chapter of her life had just ended.


	38. Laudation

“…on the subject of resurrection. Now, let us start with the complications, as I believe the process and the results are already obvious. What are the major concerns when attempting to resurrect a person? Yes, Phoebe?”

“Willingness of the victim’s patron deity.”

“Of course, that is always a concern. Some gods are more favorable to the idea of resurrection than others. Some will even refuse to allow such an act to be performed. What else?”

“Skill of the cleric.”

“Yes, Anton, a most important concern. Novice priests and priestesses are almost never endowed with the power to resurrect. Not only is the incantation difficult, but it can also outright kill the cleric if he or she is not strong enough to handle the tremendous amounts of energy involved. But there are yet more difficulties to think about. What else? Jarod?”

“The willingness of the soul to return to the living.”

“Indeed. Most do not realize that this is an important factor. Should you continue to call said spirit after he or she has not answered your summons, your actions will border necromancy. And as you should all know at this point, such a practice is _strictly forbidden in this Church_. Now, there is one last thing that you all are overlooking… any ideas?”

The classroom rang with silence as Father Dunstan surveyed his students.

“Anything at all?”

After a few more deathly quiet moments, a familiar voice finally spoke.

“How long the subject has remained deceased.”

There was murmuring and rustling throughout the class as the students twisted around in their seats, trying to find the source of the unfamiliar voice. The priest’s mouth fell open in shock, the tome falling from his hands and into a crumpled heap upon the floor. He then purposefully strode to the back of the room where, half-cloaked in shadow, a fiery-haired half-elven woman leaned casually against the back wall. At his approach, she ran forward to meet him, her face alight with elation.

“Dunstan!”

“ _Rhaine!?_ By the gods!”

They collided in the middle of the classroom. The two clutched each other tightly and buried their faces in each other’s shoulders, muffling their joyous laughter. The acolytes stared up at them, slightly confused, some whispering to each other behind their hands. Dunstan did not fail to notice this burgeoning gossip, and the priest’s voice wavered with emotion as he broke away from Rhaine and shooed them away. “Class is dismissed… we’ll discuss this lesson in detail tomorrow… _out!_ ”

The students did not hesitate to oblige him, swiping their books from their desks and eagerly departing to enjoy some rare free time. After the last acolyte left the room, Dunstan rushed to close the door behind him and simply stood there, staring at Rhaine for the longest time. His weathered face bore an expression of utter astonishment upon it.

At last, however, he spoke again in a voice hushed with disbelief, “Where… _where_ have you been? I received a letter from Neverwinter… that you had gone missing and were presumed dead. I… I couldn’t believe it. I prayed to Kelemvor… asked him to tell me your soul did not lie on the Fugue… but I was left in silence. Why?” He shook his head slowly. “Why did he not answer me? Is my faith not strong enough? Am I not worthy of his time?”

Her mouth cracked into an amused grin. She knew _exactly_ why Kelemvor had not answered him.

“Because he would have been lying if he said I wasn’t, so he said nothing at all.”

Dunstan’s jaw dropped again, his eyes widening in horror. “ _What?_ No! You can’t possibly have... you were-?”

Rhaine raised her hand to stop him. Sighing, she looked down at her plated boots – dented, discolored, and scratched, just like the rest of her armor. Indeed, she must have been a right sight to him. Her cuirass still bore large impact gouges from Akachi’s scythe. The cloak she had obtained in Rashemen was worn through and tattered. Her scarlet hair was much longer, broken, the ends split. Perhaps it looked as if she _had_ arisen from the grave. She leaned against a nearby desk and looked up, meeting his soft and kind brown eyes with her own.

And then, she proceeded to explain what had happened to her, starting with her disappearance from the Mere and ending with her departure from the Fugue Plane. All the while, Father Dunstan listened with rapt attention, never once interrupting her tale. It was terribly painful to describe what had occurred and what she had done, especially breaking the tenets of her Church, but she told all. As she recounted her experiences, one by one, his expression changed sentence by sentence: from horror, to pity, to sadness, to horror again, to fear, and then pride and happiness.

When she finally finished, he rushed forward again, embracing her fiercely in a hug that swallowed her whole. The tears that had threatened to fall earlier flowed like a river as he held her, stroking her hair gently. “It’s all right. You’re home now, and that’s all that matters.”

At that, she too began to weep… not only because of her retelling, but because her absence had also obviously caused him great pain. Rhaine rested her head on his shoulder like a child and whispered at length, “I wish there could have been another way… I wish someone else-”

“No,” he said suddenly, pushing her back from him and staring into her face with an intense gaze. “No. Don’t say that. Only _you_ could have stopped that terrible curse; only _you_ could have halted the Third Crusade. You were chosen to play this part for a reason – however painful it may have been for you to endure, you _persevered_. You showed the world your unbreakable strength, your unwavering loyalty, and your unshakeable faith. You have made _history_ , Rhaine Alcinea. And you have defeated, perhaps, the greatest evil the Sword Coast has ever known. This Church is _blessed_ with your presence, and you have been blessed with so many gifts.”

He wiped away a stream of tears from her cheek with his thumb. “I am proud… so very _proud_ to have played even a small part in making you the wonderful and brave young woman you have become.”

She patted his hand gently, voice wavering as she replied, “And I am proud to call _you_ my father.”

\------------------------------------------------------

“Are you going to stay a while?”

Dunstan had finished his sermon and dismissed the congregation long ago. Now, only he and Rhaine remained in the nave of the Temple. The sun was setting, its warm light streaming through the high windows and illuminating the altar in a golden glow. She remained sitting on an oaken pew while he relit a few of the nearby candelabras.

She smiled a little and nodded. “I’d like to be alone with my thoughts for a bit, yes.”

Rhaine readjusted her sleeves again. It had been so long since she had worn her customary robes that they were slightly uncomfortable. She shifted on the bench, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and straightening her hood. The ends of her tresses were thick, as she had removed at least six inches from the scarlet waves. As a result, her head felt startlingly light, now. Indeed, it was as if the entirety of her body were too delicate and her clothing too flimsy.

Dunstan noticed her fidgeting. “More comfortable in armor now, eh, Sister?”

She chuckled lightly. “You could say that.”

He nodded once in understanding, finishing his work and bowing out. “I’ll leave you to your contemplation, then, and I shall pray that you find peace tonight, my dear.”

Rhaine waited a few minutes, until Dunstan had disappeared in full, before sighing aloud, as if trying to expel her exhaustion and her feelings with her breath alone. She then rose and paced around, glancing at the various pieces of furniture and decorations around the nave. Everything was almost as it had been when she had left nearly two years ago.

With her hard-soled temple boots, even her softest footsteps were loud as she walked around the marble hall. The pervading silence that came this late in the day was slightly disconcerting and, at the same time, tranquil. She remembered when this kind of peace and solitude was nothing but comforting to her in her youth. Now, though, after so long of living on pins and needles, the serenity was almost alien to her. It would be difficult to become accustomed to again.

Slowly, she approached the altar and let her eyes fall on all of the intricate pieces there… the skeletal hand and scales of ivory and brass, the golden collection plate, and the myriad of glowing and flickering candles set all around. She absentmindedly played with the flame of one of those candles as she looked past the altar to the alcove behind it. It had always struck her as an oddly empty area – at least twenty feet high, just a niche in the wall topped with an arched window. It had been that way ever since she had first arrived at the temple so many years ago, and yet it felt as if it were still missing something.

The Doomguide’s thoughts trailed to her newfound fortune. No doubt it would end up dumped into the Temple’s coffers, sooner or later. She herself had no desire to spend it on material things. Unless…

An idea struck her as forcefully as if she had been punched. She stared at the empty alcove, brightly illuminated in the ruddy hues of the setting sun. Grinning to herself with a slight bit of mischief as she recalled her god’s words in the City of Judgment, she hurried back through the empty corridors to her chambers. Snatching some spare parchment and a quill from her desk, she began to sketch…

\------------------------------------------------------

Her purse was certainly lighter, now. The gnomish brothers had been eager to take her coin, but they were deserving of it. Their handiwork was the finest she had ever seen, and she felt honored to have played a part in designing their newest creation.

During the night, they wheeled the separate pieces into the temple, while most of the inhabitants were asleep. Their work was to be unveiled the following day at the graduation ceremony of the newest Doomguides, so Rhaine watched as the two Lantanese natives assembled the parts with utmost care. As they did so, she marveled at how well it fit with the rest of the temple. The alcove was no longer empty. From now on, it would be the center of attention.

When it was finally in place, Dunstan placed a hand on her shoulder as he gazed up at the new addition. His voice was tinged with awe – and a bit of surprise.

“So _that’s_ what he looks like, eh?”

\------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, her fellow priests were astonished, but not disappointed at the sight of Rhaine’s gift, and many a prayer was whispered after the presentation and the following sermon.

The alcove was now graced with a twenty-foot high statue of Kelemvor himself, which had been designed from Rhaine’s detailed sketches. It was stunningly accurate and, perhaps, the first of its kind. Crafted mostly from black marble, with touches of true adamantine, mithral, and a dash of gold, the figure was lavish in material, but also tasteful in design.

The Lord of the Dead was depicted with his both his sword and the scales of justice in hand. His head was held neither high in pride nor low in disdain, but level, as if watchful for something above their heads that only he could see. The hooded marble robes flowed with almost liquid fluidity, the black stone seamlessly meeting the tiles of the floor, as if it had always been a part of it. His adamantine armor pieces gave off a slight green shimmer in the firelight around him, and his silver mask, made from mithral to prevent tarnishing, glowed with a ghostly sheen. His sword was also mithral, embellished with a few flawless emeralds upon the crossguard and pommel, and the scales of justice were crafted of solid gold.

Rhaine remained in the nave even after the others of her church had gone to bed, gazing up at the moonlit statue and admiring the gnomes’ beautiful work. And then, after a few moments, she felt a warm sensation all around her, a familiar voice sounding within her mind.

“ _If you have done this out of a misbegotten notion that you are somehow indebted to me, you are sorely mistaken and have wasted your coin_.”

She grinned impishly. “Well, you _are_ the one who said I could spend it how I liked.”

Silence.

“Besides, it will give the acolytes something to, ah, look up to.”

Silence.

She sighed in exasperation. “Look. I needed a more tangible way to say ‘thank you’. Words were not enough for me. Actions have real meaning.”

“ _Could you not have thought of a better use for your gold? Material wealth has no value in my realm. Did you think it would mean anything more to me on the Prime? The gravedigger’s shack is as the Tower of Skulls – only mortals and the vainest of gods put worth on extravagance_.”

Her brow furrowed. “Would you rather my coin be coppered and silvered to death on maintenance and repairs? Dumped into our coffers for pomp and ceremony?”

Silence.

The Doomguide crossed her arms defiantly, lifting her chin. “I regret nothing. If Sune and Helm and Tyr and Tempus can all have statues, so can you.”

“ _That may be true. But this effigy is also more than mere thanks. It will always be a reminder of where you have been… and where you are going. And whether you are conscious of the fact or not, you have done this more to ease your own mind than for my benefit.”_

This time, it was Rhaine who was silent. The truth of his words rendered her momentarily speechless. But then, after a moment, she sighed again, shaking her head. “Any other god would be pleased that such an impressive artwork was made in his image.”

“ _I did not say that I wasn’t… only that your purpose behind it is invalid_.”

“Well,” she replied with a slight chuckle, “then I suppose you could call this my splurge for the year. As I said before: I regret nothing.”

At that, his presence wordlessly retreated from her mind, and she was left alone again, staring up at the magnificent statue. After a few moments, she shook her head once more and made her way across the nave, approaching the passage to the West Wing. But then, as she opened the heavy oaken door, she turned and looked back one final time.

Perhaps she didn’t regret this purchase, but there were so many other things that she _did_ regret – things that she _had_ done, things she _hadn’t_ done, and things that she did not have the opportunity to say.

Kelemvor was right. This statue was and always would be a reminder of everything she had gone through – nothing of which could be changed or denied. Others would only see the god himself. _She_ would always see her past… and her future.

It was both a devoted laudation and a painful memento.

She chuckled to herself at the thought.

 _A_ _memento mori_.


	39. Exaltation

It was storming outside of the Temple of Kelemvor.

The wind howled around the eaves, the rain pounding on the stained glass in torrents. Flashes of blue-white lightning occasionally illuminated the corridors in a bright and eerie glow before returning the interior to its dark and candle-lit warmth. Most of the clergy were busy in their own quarters – some of them making sure that the youngest members were tucked into bed, others preparing for the morrow’s lessons, and still others penning official documents and tending to the mortuary. Rhaine, however, lingered alone in the nave after the eventide sermon, as usual.

It had been four months since her return from Rashemen. The days were long, predictable, and largely uneventful, and for that, she was thankful… she felt that she had quite enough excitement for a while. The demanding routines of the Doomguides were easy to become lost in, and it was during those monotonous schedules that Rhaine began to put the harrowing trials of the past year behind her.

Rhaine’s duties were not as tedious as most. She did not specialize in embalming or other corporeal funerary procedures like some of her brothers and sisters did. Thus, she did not have to engage in backbreaking, painstaking work from sunup to sundown. She also was not an instructor, and so she did not have to spend her nights preparing lectures and hands-on activities for her students for the following days.

She did, however, perform more of the emotionally-taxing duties of her church – tending to the dying by administering Last Rites and comforting their grieving loved ones through the pain of loss. She was a compassionate counselor, but it took a great amount of effort to keep her work from wearing on her own psyche.

Some people took death better than others. She had seen it all… everything from overwhelming sadness to explosive anger. It was one of these latter cases that she recently had to contend with, and it was of what she now thought as she paced the darkened nave somewhat restlessly. The bereaved in question had responded to their kin’s death with an unbridled rage, cursing the Church, cursing her, cursing the gods themselves, and threatening to deal death in kind. With a great amount of tactful diplomacy, patience, and a little bit of luck, however, she managed to get them to calmly leave the temple and return home.

Her lone vigil in the silent nave served as her own therapy after such an ordeal.

Of a sudden, the doors of the temple opened with a slow, groaning creak, and a gust of wind blew through the nave, extinguishing a few of the candles closest to the entrance. Rhaine turned and peered at the open portal with her brow furrowed, wondering who would be seeking out the temple at this late hour.

Nevertheless, she raised a hand in friendly greeting. “I bid you welcome to the house of Kelemvor. How may I be of service?”

The stranger did not respond to her at first. They were garbed in a cloak of midnight blue, trimmed in silver, the hood up so that she could not see their face. From what Rhaine _could_ see, they were very slightly built, moving across the marble floor towards her with quick and light steps – almost soundless. Perhaps a young female?

At last, when the stranger was about five paces from Rhaine, they pulled back their hood. The Doomguide involuntarily took a step backward in shock. She was greeted by the face of a female drow.

Rhaine was about to open her mouth to speak again, her eyes wide, when the drow raised her hands in reassurance, giving her a surprisingly-cordial introduction. “ _Vendui_. Please… I mean you no harm. I am Maydiira Torana, Favored Soul of Eilistraee. And you are Rhaine Alcinea, Favored Soul of Kelemvor.”

Her eyebrows rose. Another Favored Soul, and of Eilistraee to boot… the singular good deity of the Dark Seldarine, pantheon of the drow elves. The Doomguide looked the elf up and down as she removed her rain-soaked cloak. She wore a spectacularly _skimpy_ harness of mithral armor, showing off copious amounts of her shimmering blue-black skin and elegant silver tattoos. A magnificent bastard sword – its blade of adamantine and its pommel a moonstone the size of a hen’s egg – was strapped between her shoulders. Waist-length, thick white hair framed a delicate face and accentuated her striking, silver-white eyes.

But the most unusual thing about the drow was her wings.

She had _wings_. They were fluffy and white, each feather tipped in grey.

Maydiira caught Rhaine’s gaze and smiled, her teeth startlingly white against her skin. “They are a sign of my faith in the Lady of the Dance. You shall get yours in time, I’m sure.”

It took a breath or two for the Doomguide to comprehend what the drow was saying. For one, her voice was heavily accented, and every one of her R’s were rolled, though she otherwise spoke perfect Common. For another, it seemed as if Maydiira was suggesting that Rhaine, too, would bear wings in the future… an idea that seemed even more alien than the drow’s current presence in a surface temple.

The silver eyes narrowed. “You do not understand? Have your brothers not told you about the favored of the gods and their faith manifested?”

Rhaine shook her head as if to clear it and found her voice again. “I… I must admit that I am ignorant on the subject, yes. But it is no matter. You have come here for a reason, favored of Eilistraee? How may the servants of Kelemvor assist you?”

Maydiira nodded and sighed, looping her damp blue cloak over one arm. “I have. It is no small thing for one of my kind to risk travel to Waterdeep, considering events of the recent past. The rise of the _Valsharess_ nearly destroyed any progress my people – whom you call ‘good drow’ – made with surface folk. I would not have come, but that I need _your_ help, _Barra’ktonos_.”

Rhaine’s brow furrowed in puzzlement again, and Maydiira smiled once more. “It is what my people call you… ‘Shadow Slayer,’ in the Common tongue. Your deeds have earned you renown even as far as the Dalelands from which I come. It is you whom our high priestess requested I retrieve in order to vanquish an undead evil that threatens our Eilistraeen colony. I would have handled it myself, but she insisted that I find you. She warned that if I did not, I would not survive the ordeal, and the threat would overtake us. And so I obeyed her.”

“What exactly is this threat that requires my aid, specifically?” Rhaine asked. She was intrigued as to why _she_ in particular was needed – specifically called for by an Eilistraeen priestess so far away. Surely there were other Doomguides that could handle this problem who were much closer to the Dalelands than Waterdeep? Though the Kelemvorites were a relatively new sect, monasteries were springing up like mushrooms throughout the Realms…

“This is no small matter,” Maydiira replied with a shake of her head. “It is not your average skeleton or zombie horde, to be put down by priests of any faith or rank. No, we are dealing with something far greater. Packs of ghouls and ghasts are making the tunnels south of our colony entirely impassable. We are holding our ground with our meager militia, but the problem is worsening over time. Our scouts have begun to see vampires in their midst, and we fear what else might be behind these incessant hordes. Not only are the undead themselves an issue, but the sole viable route we have to escape Lolth’s fanatical handmaidens is to the south. If our enemies north of us ever decided to attack, we would be driven into the midst of the undead. For the safety of the colony, these creatures must be stopped as quickly as possible… and you are the only one we know of who can _ensure_ their defeat.”

Then, the drow sighed again and added, “If that is not need enough for your aid, know that the Deepingdale capital of Highmoon is also under threat. Our colony is close to the surface. Should we fall, there will be nothing to stop the advance of the undead into the Dale. The surfacers know not what dangers lurk beneath their feet, nor have we the voice to warn them… for they would as soon kill us as they would the ghasts.”

Rhaine listened carefully to the drow’s explanation and her plea, mulling over her words and giving them deep consideration. She could not refuse such a cry for help, and if the situation was as serious as Maydiira implied that it was, there was no time to waste. The journey alone could take more than a month.

“Let me go pack my things, and I will be ready,” the Doomguide finally answered resolutely. “We must make haste if we are to reach the Dalelands in time to save your-”

She was cut off, though, as Maydiira laughed lightly. “Travel time will not be an issue, _elghinn wenress_. I have a way we can reach my home this very night.”

Rhaine raised her eyebrows but said nothing, turning to depart for her chambers. As she left the nave and navigated the maze-like corridors, her thoughts were awhirl with what had just transpired and what Maydiira had told her. Though the undead were indeed a major concern, that particular part of the conversation was not at the forefront of her mind at the moment… it was still the drow’s wings.

 _Why_ did she have wings? _How_ did she get them? If they were tied to being a Favored Soul, as she had suggested, then _when_ would Rhaine get hers? Or would she? And would she even _want_ them? Were they an aid, or simply a burden? Neither? It would be rude of her to pry, she knew. Yet, somehow, she was left with the distinct feeling that she had been left out of something – as if she had not been taught vitally important information that was just now being dumped on her shoulders by a complete stranger.

It would not be the fault of her church, necessarily. The Doomguide continued to consider it as she packed her bags and donned her armor. No, Favored Souls were a rarity… few and far between. She was certain that this particular temple had not had dealings with them before, at least not since Myrkul’s reign. That High Father Gerard knew anything about them at all was saying something.

As Rhaine checked everything a final time, she began to think that perhaps her encounter with Maydiira was more than mere chance. Maybe she was meant to learn from the drow about her own life and destiny.

Her questions, however, would have to wait until things were not so urgent. Even then, the drow was under no obligation to answer her. Yet, Maydiira spoke with her as if she were quite familiar with her. Her comment about the Doomguide’s fame was intriguing to say the least, and Rhaine wondered how far her story had actually gone… and how many times it had been twisted to the bard’s fancy.

At last, she re-entered the nave. She put on her cloak and nodded to the drow. “I am ready. How are we to depart?”

Maydiira grinned, producing an object from one finger that looked like a transparent crystal ring. She pulled on the edges and the ring expanded, larger and larger, until it grew wide enough for them to walk through. The drow then spoke a single word: “ _Delmah_.”

The ring instantly manifested a shimmering silver portal within its bounds, the interior of the temple reflected on its rippling surface. The drow gestured to it. “After you.”

Rhaine hesitated for a moment, and Maydiira’s smile widened. “It is a… portable portal, if you will,” the drow explained. “It can take me to places I have been before. I once ventured fairly close to Waterdeep, and this portal took me to that area… it is how I arrived here so quickly. It will also take us back to the colony – and when our task is complete, it will bring you back here once more.”

The Doomguide’s eyebrows rose high again. It was quite the impressive tool, indeed. Rhaine lifted a hand and touched the silvery surface of the portal, and it rippled slightly before washing over her and _pulling_ her into its depths.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Welcome to _Sel Sreen'aur_ ,” Maydiira said at last, gesturing around her. “In your tongue, simply ‘New Safety.’ It is a small village, nothing more. Yet, it is a beacon of hope for goodly drow in this region. We are mostly refugees from broken Houses or runaways from slaving parties. Despite our varied backgrounds, though, we all put our faith in the Lady.”

The portal had instantly snapped back into the small crystal ring, which Maydiira returned to one slender finger. She then moved to stand ahead of Rhaine while the Doomguide looked around, taking in her new surroundings.

She had never once set foot in the Underdark, and she had not cared to before now. It was true to its name… impossibly dark and eerie. Even with her partial elven vision, Rhaine could not see the ceiling of the cavern in which they had been deposited. The walls ascended into an inky blackness that started only a few feet above their heads. Long, gigantic stalactites pierced through the void-black darkness like clawed fingers. What structures and formations she _could_ see were weakly illuminated by sporadic torches of magical faerie fire. These flames danced with faint silver, purple, and blue hues, giving the nearby constructions an otherworldly glow. Maydiira herself almost vanished in the incredible darkness, only visible by her highly-reflective armor and tattoos.

Rhaine shifted uncomfortably, trying to make out the buildings around her. Other drow flitted amongst the shadows like red-eyed wraiths, obviously as wary of her as she was of them. From what she could see, most were garbed in rags or mismatched armors. Many were female, but there was a scattering of males as well.

After a moment, Maydiira gently took Rhaine by the arm and began leading her. “This way. We need to speak with Mother Neerthara before we head southwards.”

“Who is she, again?” The Doomguide asked, letting herself be guided to a large stone structure on the northern edge of the settlement.

“Our high priestess,” Maydiira replied. “Once the Matron Mother of the minor House Mellyl, now a servant of Eilistraee. It was she who brought me into the faith and established this haven for us. It was also she who told us about you.”

She pushed open the doors of the building and motioned for Rhaine to enter. Thankfully, the interior was a little brighter than the outside, and the Doomguide’s eyes did not have to strain as much. It was well lit with silvery faerie fire, and Rhaine could see that this building was a temple. An altar stood roughly in the center of the room, crafted from plain granite, as far as she could tell. Atop this altar, a piece of solid obsidian had been carved into Eilistraee’s holy symbol: a naked, dancing drow maiden with her bastard sword in hand, her ankle-length silver hair strategically preserving her modesty.

A tall, slender drow woman stood near this altar. She wore a long, flowing white dress, with cutaways to show her jet-black flesh beneath. Her snow-white hair flowed to her knees, pulled back from her face with a simple silver ribbon. Her countenance, like Maydiira’s, bore an ageless beauty, but her eyes were completely hidden by a white blindfold. It did not seem to hinder her vision, though, as she glanced at Rhaine, and a smile tugged at her full, ruby lips.

“ _Vendui, kivvil. Ol zhah bwael nindel dos inbal keffal plez ulu xxizz udossa_.”

Rhaine’s eyes widened, and she froze. She had no idea what the priestess had said to her, nor how to respond appropraitely. Thankfully, though, Maydiira stepped between them and smiled warmly. “Mother Neerthara does not speak Common. I will translate for the both of you. She says, ‘Hello, surfacer. It is good that you have seen fit to help us.’”

The Favored Soul then spoke in drowish with the priestess, who simply nodded in understanding. Rhaine could only assume that Maydiira had told her she would act as a translator.

The Doomguide took a deep breath and attempted to speak directly to the priestess, so as not to disrespect her. She remembered that Maydiira and the priestess both had greeted her with _vendui_ , and so she decided to do the same.

“ _Vendui_ , Mother Neerthara. It is not only my pleasure, but my duty to come to your aid. I cannot ignore the plight of those who are plagued by the undead.”

Maydiira quickly interpreted this for the priestess, who smiled even more broadly at Rhaine and answered in drowish again. Maydiira’s translation followed: “Then you are a good woman, as my Lady has told me. Is there anything I may do to aid you in this? I know not what you may need.”

Immediately, Rhaine knew that her eyesight was her greatest weakness in these lands. Though the drow saw the tunnels of the Underdark perfectly with their natural infrared vision, the Doomguide could barely see anything at all. It was too easy for the denizens of this underworld to sneak up on her… and that would mean her swift death.

She sighed, confessing that vulnerability, “My lady, if there is any way that you can help my poor eyesight, I would be grateful. I cannot be of much help to you if Maydiira must lead me by the hand everywhere.”

At this, the priestess reached behind her head and untied her white blindfold, removing it and proffering it to the Doomguide. Rhaine had to stifle a gasp. Mother Neerthara’s eyes were _gone_ , seemingly gouged out by a monster’s claws… or a crude tool. The priestess then gestured for Rhaine to take the piece of cloth, Maydiira supplying her answer, “Then take this. With it, you may see the caverns of our home as if by moonlight.”

Rhaine stepped closer and carefully took the blindfold from the priestess, hesitating for a moment before tying it around her own head and covering her eyes. It was true. Suddenly, she saw every detail of the temple interior, right down to the grout between the slate tiles of the floor, as if they were illuminated by the light of the full moon. After a few breaths of looking around, she bowed in gratitude. “I thank you, Mother Neerthara. This is of great help, indeed.”

Maydiira spoke this to the priestess, who merely nodded and made her own bow in response. Then, the drow Favored Soul moved closer to Rhaine. “Let us go, then. Now that your weakness has been countered, we can take the fight to the enemy.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Hours passed like days, and vice versa. They would travel through the tunnels south of the colony until weariness overtook them. Then, they would make camp and sleep for a while before resuming their journey. Occasionally, they would run into scouts from Sel Sreen'aur, who would confirm with elaborate hand signals that they were heading in the right direction. All the while, Rhaine was expecting to come across one of the fabled denizens of the Underdark: a beholder or an illithid, perhaps… maybe even a hostile drow slaving party, or a caustic, living ooze. When they did not encounter such, however, it made the Doomguide even more concerned. It meant that the undead threat had successfully displaced the native species – which indicated that it was powerful, indeed.

Rhaine had no idea how many days they had traveled to the south and west. Time was immeasurable here, much like on the Fugue Plane; one could pass an eternity and never be aware of it. The lack of sunlight, too, was almost maddening, and she began to feel both anxious and claustrophobic.

Just as she was wondering how much more they would have to travel, they came across a corpse in one of the tunnels, half hidden behind a stalagmite. Maydiira gestured for her to stay back, and the winged drow carefully bent over the body. She glanced up at Rhaine after a few moments, “Svirfneblin… deep gnome. Looks like ghast work. We’re close.”

“Good,” was Rhaine’s only response.

But then, suddenly, an overwhelming stench reached the Doomguide’s nostrils, and it wasn’t just that of the decaying corpse. Her bastard sword rang out of its sheath as she warned, “They’re here now! Be ready!”

No sooner than Maydiira had drawn her own sword, the undead attacked. Roughly a dozen ghouls, interspersed with three or four ghasts, loped down the tunnel towards them. They were an awful sight… bodies dried and shriveled but jaws hanging open and dripping saliva. Rhaine began reciting her _Turning_ incantation, and just as the carrion-eating undead reached them, her power launched from her outstretched hand in a wave of white-hot light. The holy power slammed into the ghouls and ghasts like a hammer, paralyzing most of them and outright destroying two.

Maydiira laughed as she began rending the undead to pieces with her mighty blade, obviously taking a great amount of enjoyment in the fighting. Rhaine joined her, and the two Favored Souls made quick work of the foul creatures with their formidable weapons. Afterwards, when the last undead fell, they stood for a few moments in silence, letting their adrenaline die down a bit. Both of their swords were covered in disgusting decay.

Finally, Maydiira spoke again with a grin, “You _are_ good. Now, let’s-”

But she was cut off as something crashed into her from behind, hissing and spitting. A female vampire had jumped her, pinning her to the cave floor, and was now swiftly moving to bite Maydiira’s neck as the adamantine bastard sword clattered away from the drow’s hands. Rhaine swiftly and instinctively jerked a vial from her belt and pitched it at the vampire, the fragile glass shattering upon impact with the undead female. The vampire immediately leapt up and howled in pain as the holy water burned like acid through its flesh. As it struggled to regain its focus, then, Rhaine stepped over the drow and removed the vampire’s head in one fluid slash of _Touch of Death_. The corpse promptly disintegrated into ash, and Rhaine offered her hand to her fellow Favored Soul.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” she joked.

Maydiira pulled herself up with a grunt. “You can bet I will.”

“Come on, then. We need to find the source of these creatures and strike before they regroup.”

As the pair continued on through the tunnels, Rhaine added with a whisper, “I don’t think these undead are native to the Underdark. We may be dealing with trafficking from necromancers. If so, I wouldn’t expect our future encounters to be restricted solely to undead.”

After only a few more minutes of travel, they came across the mouth of an enormous cavern. Through the magic of Mother Neerthara’s blindfold, Rhaine could see an elaborate entrance formed into the far wall. The entryway appeared to be made from black granite, massive serpentine carvings gracing the lintel. The two picked their way towards it, stepping over thick moss and softly glowing mushrooms along the way.

It was then Maydiira pointed at the dirt on the cavern floor. “Look. The stones and earth have been disturbed by either a large creature or very many humanoids. We should be cautious.”

Rhaine nodded her agreement, examining the entrance more closely. She could hear no sounds behind it, but she kept her sword at the ready. With her free hand, she traced a carving on the wall and her brow furrowed. She had seen this symbol before, in her studies. After a few breaths of thinking, she finally whispered grimly, “The Cult of the Dragon.”

“What?” Maydiira asked, moving over to see what Rhaine was looking at.

“The Cult of the Dragon,” Rhaine repeated. “The madness of Sammaster. They revere undead dragons as gods. We’re not dealing with just necromancers here. We have a dracolich on our hands.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Maydiira cocked her head, puzzled, “So all of these undead… they are…?”

“The heralds of a much greater malevolence,” Rhaine supplied. “One that we _must_ stop... or die trying.”

She then jerked her head at the entrance. “Who first?”

Her ally’s mouth was a thin line. “I’ll go. Watch my back?”

Rhaine nodded. As the drow opened the double doors, then, the Doomguide followed close behind. The two crept along, following a narrow corridor made of the same black granite, which was damp with moisture. At the end of this hall was another set of doors, and behind them, they could hear faint voices. Maydiira held up a hand and pressed her pointed ear to one of the mahogany panels. After a few breaths, she whispered, “Drow. Hostile. At least five. They are the ones raising the ghouls. Serving someone else.”

Rhaine tightened her grip on _Touch of Death_. “Likely for the dracolich. Let’s deal with them.”

Maydiira kicked open the doors with a _bang_ , surprising the drow in the chamber beyond. Rhaine’s _Blade Barrier_ sprang into existence between them, and Maydiira added her own power by summoning a _Dire Wolf_. Three against five, they charged into the room. The drow necromancers, all male, were quick to follow with their own decimating spells. The Doomguide only barely dodged a _Harm_ incantation, the scarlet magic blasting a chunk out of the wall where she had been just seconds before. Maydiira’s giant wolf responded by knocking the caster to the ground and swiftly tearing out his throat, and the Eilistraeen herself quickly beheaded another before he could unleash a powerful _Weird_.

Rhaine managed to raise a _Nightshield_ just as another necromancer cast a _Missile Storm_ , the hail of violet magic dissipating as it encountered her shadowy ward… but she failed to see one of the others sending a _Bigby’s Grasping Hand_ straight for her. Unable to stop the rush of magic, she was paralyzed by a giant, transparent fist. The Doomguide was released again momentarily, however, when Maydiira’s bastard sword skewered the necromancer from behind.

At that moment, the dire wolf took the full brunt of a _Fireball_ and was reduced to a chunk of smoldering meat and fur. Two against two. Rhaine’s silent _Flame Strike_ then took one of the necromancers completely by surprise, and he yelped as he, too, caught fire. _Touch of Death_ put an end to him at the same time that Maydiira slew the last with her own _Destruction_ spell.

Rhaine panted, half smiling at the drow woman. “Not bad.”

Maydiira merely inclined her head in thanks before kneeling to investigate their foes. She took the amulet of one and turned it over in her hands, her eyes narrowing, and she murmured, “These males all came from the same house… a relatively small one. I wonder if it was destroyed, and the stragglers made their way here. I can’t imagine any other reason why my kind would join forces with a dracolich.”

After a few breaths, they heard noises approaching from a side hall. Readying their weapons, they maneuvered down the corridor and found themselves face-to-face with two more vampires. Rhaine called a _Bond of_ _Fatal Touch_ , the green flames engulfing one in searing power as Maydiira’s _Hammer of the Gods_ dazed the other with golden light. Unlike the vampire monks of Myrkul’s Vault, these undead were not so old or experienced, and both fell quickly to the blades of the holy warriors, disintegrating into ash as the female had before.

But then, suddenly, a low rumble shook the building… a rumble that steadily grew into a roar.

Maydiira’s silver eyes were wide. “Is that…?”

Rhaine nodded grimly. “The dracolich.”

They continued to wander for what seemed like hours through the complex, easily dispatching ghouls here and drow there… even a few more vampires. At last, however, they came upon a large, unadorned chamber, seemingly empty. Both Favored Souls kept near the entrance, hesitant to move into the room proper, the door open just enough so that they could see within. Then came another roar, far louder this time, dust raining from the ceiling as a figure moved about in the darkness beyond.

Through the magical blindfold, Rhaine could see it… the dracolich itself. It crept forward into the chamber from the opposite side of the room, its skeletal jaw hanging open. Judging from the remnants of flesh that clung to its frame, it had once been an ancient Green dragon. Now, however, it had all the strengths of its former existence on top of its new undead power. A formidable foe to say the least…

But they could not stop. Not now. They had gone too far to abandon their task here. And as long as the dragon lived, it would seek out new servitors and wreak havoc on the local populace… drow and surfacer alike.

Rhaine pressed herself flat to the wall, her voice barely a whisper. “There it is. Undead green dragon. Chlorine gas breath – poison.”

Maydiira’s face was grim. “I have no immunity to such, do you?”

“My holy amulet,” Rhaine breathed, putting her hand to it and feeling it pulse warmly in response. “As long as I wear it, poison has no effect on me.”

The drow’s silver eyes flicked back and forth between the stalking dracolich and the Doomguide. “So what do _I_ do?”

Rhaine thought for a few moments, and then replied firmly, “Find the phylactery. I’ll keep the dragon occupied until you get back.”

“The what?”

“The phylactery,” the Doomguide repeated. “Liches of all kinds house their souls inside of them. As long as the phylactery is intact, the dragon will be able to regenerate time and time again. The only way to permanently destroy it is to smash the phylactery _first_.”

“But, you will be alone,” Maydiira protested, her silver eyes wide in concern.

“And so will you,” Rhaine answered tersely. “It is no matter… we do what we must, in the name of our gods and for the sake of our people. Now go! We cannot afford to fail.”

Maydiira’s mouth pressed together and she nodded. She then turned and vanished down the corridor as silent as a shadow, her grey-tipped wings the last thing Rhaine saw before darkness swallowed her drow ally whole.

\------------------------------------------------------

Maydiira could only hope that the _Barra’ktonos_ was faring all right. As she weaved her way back through the black labyrinth, she heard distant roars and crashes echoing through the corridors. The drow took this as a good sign… as long as the dracolich was making noise, she could be sure that Rhaine was still harassing it.

She had no idea what the phylactery might look like… until now, Maydiira had very little experience with undead creatures, especially the more powerful echelons; she was far more used to battling her own kind – the living ones, at least. After a long while of no success in finding said vessel, she began to fear that it was not here at all. The drow began smashing everything in sheer frustration – pottery, goblets, weapons… anything that she could break – in the vain hope she might actually destroy it by accident.

And then, there was a sharp grinding noise as she shattered a carved tablet upon a dais. The wall behind her shifted and retracted into the floor to reveal a small treasure room beyond, full to the brim with the dragon’s hoard. Standing in the middle was an elaborate pillar, atop which rested what was most assuredly the glowing phylactery. Ignoring everything else – gold, jewels, weapons, armor, and priceless scrolls – Maydiira made a mad dash for the pulsing red crystal that housed the dracolich’s soul…

\------------------------------------------------------

Rhaine rolled under the dracolich’s paw, barely escaping its powerful talons. The dragon had breathed chlorine gas twice, the hazy green mist slowly rising to cling to the ceiling of the cavern. Now that it knew its breath weapon had no effect on her, however, it had resorted to more brutal tactics. The Doomguide could not find the time to cast any spells for dodging its snake-swift attacks with teeth and claws. Already its tail had caught her in the abdomen and sent her sprawling into the wall on the other side of the chamber. A bony spike had punctured the leather between two sections of her cuirass, and she was bleeding from a deep wound in her side. She was also fairly certain that a few of her ribs had cracked from the impact.

_Come on, Maydiira…_

Still, despite the pain from her injury, she could not afford to stop moving for one second. She rolled again with a grunt as its other paw came down right beside her head, effectively trapping her between its two front legs. Snarling, she called a _Bond of Fatal Touch_ , launching herself sideways and slashing at the nearest wrist joint. The pale green power exploded on impact, the force of her strike effectively severing the dragon’s left paw from the rest of its limb.

The dracolich reeled with a screech, and Rhaine used this opportunity to escape the dangerous trap in which she’d found herself. She rolled again, over the severed claws, scrambling to her feet before calling a _Mass Heal_. The blindingly-bright healing light flooded the chamber and seared the already-wounded dracolich with intense positive energy as a few rotten spines were blasted from its back. Unfortunately, its resulting thrashing ended with its tail slamming into her again, sending her flying once more. She landed with a cry, her wounds most certainly made worse by the hit and the subsequent impact on the cave floor.

But then, as the dragon whirled about to face her again, it roared as if in great pain. It reared back on its hind legs, its head lashing violently from side to side, the bones rattling with a sickening noise. Rhaine took the opportunity to cast a _Fire Storm_ , calling a massive amount of elemental flame to explode around the dracolich and giving her time to race for the corridor to escape any follow-up wrath. Sprinting through the smoke, she dashed for the hall and slid to the floor, half hiding herself behind the door jamb; there was no way the dragon could follow through the humanoid-sized entrance.

Not that it _would_ , however: it seemed her drow ally had at last been successful in destroying the dragon's soul-housing. As most tales in the Church of Kelemvor promised, it was usually easier to destroy the phylactery than the actual lich. With the latter gone, the undead itself was deprived of its lifeforce. Not that such a victory didn't come without a price...

Rhaine grunted as she felt around her wound. It would take quite a bit of power to heal. She hissed in pain as she called forth her restorative magics, concentrating on mending cracked bones and torn flesh over the dying roars of the dracolich. Just as she finished healing the wound, Maydiira rounded the corner.

“It’s done!” the drow panted breathlessly; it looked as though Maydiira’s hands had been burned by the phylactery, and she stopped not far from where Rhaine lay to channel bright healing magic into them.

The Doomguide nodded and stood slowly, wincing as her side yet throbbed. Her head ached, but she kept the grip on her blade tight, just in case. The two then reentered the chamber to find the dracolich nothing more than a gigantic pile of smoking cinders and charred bone before them, and the cavern had fallen eerily silent.

Maydiira held her hands to her eyes, as if they were hurting. At that, Rhaine gently placed her hand on the dark elf’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Her fellow Favored Soul nodded and blinked a few times. “I’ll… be fine. The phylactery just blinded me a little when it exploded.” She laughed a little. “Ah well. It was worth it to have that thing finally dead.”

The Doomguide grinned. “Well, it is done at last. The colony is safe and the surfacers are none the wiser… to either yours or the dracolich’s presence. We have done a good thing this day.”

The drow smiled back at her. “No small thanks to you, _Barra’ktonos_. Now, let’s get out of here, shall we?”

\------------------------------------------------------

The back of the chamber transitioned into another massive cave, itself opening to the surface world. The two emerged to a brilliantly beautiful Cormyrean sunset, as their travels had taken them all the way under the mountains between Cormyr and the Dalelands. They now stood in the kingdom of the Purple Dragon Knights… rolling hills, grasslands, and tall forests bathed in a violet, pink, and orange glow. Maydiira flinched at the intensity of the sun, but she stoically stood with Rhaine and watched it as it slowly dipped behind the titanic Storm Horns in the west.

Rhaine was about to quickly utter her usual evening prayers when she experienced an explosive pain in her back, just behind her shoulder blades. She drew in her breath sharply, and Maydiira stepped closer, her face writ with an expression of concern. “What is it, friend?”

“I… my back… _agh!_ ”

The Doomguide was forced to her knees with the sheer intensity of the pain that burned like fire in her flesh. Her vision swam with red and black, and she was hit with a wave of dizziness. Rhaine gripped the blades of grass in front of her as she fell further to the ground, and she could feel Maydiira fumbling with the straps of her cuirass as that blackness then completely consumed her sight.

\------------------------------------------------------

When she woke again, she found herself back in the temple of Sel Sreen'aur… or at least, that was what she thought, judging from the presence of silver faerie fire juxtaposed to deep shadow; Mother Neerthara’s blindfold was gone from her face. Rhaine shivered as cold air hit her, and she realized she was garbed in just in her breeches and boots. Her torso sported only her undergarments and a soft black cloak. The Doomguide slowly pushed herself up from a small cot, and that cloak fell away…

…only for her to discover that it wasn’t a cloak at all.

It was _feathers_. Black feathers.

She took hold of those feathers and nearly shrieked when she _felt_ the pressure of her own hand distantly connect with them. The pain in her back very suddenly returned as a throbbing ache, the muscles and flesh tender and sore, and her heart pounded in her chest as a wave of comprehension hit her.

“Welcome to my world, _Barra’ktonos_.”

Maydiira was perched on a nearby bench, her legs crossed elegantly. She smiled at the Doomguide, her pleased expression mixed with a hint of mischief. “What did I tell you? You’ve got your own, now.”

Rhaine scrambled off of the cot, spinning around and around in a circle as she tried to see what she knew was a pair of black wings upon her back. _Her_ black wings. They hung limply from between her shoulders, as the new muscles were not strong enough to support them yet. She gently took hold of one and pulled it around her body so that she could see it better. They were nothing like Zoab’s faded charcoal wings. No, their sleek blackness was as dark and beautiful as a raven’s, shimmering with a slight green iridescence.

“Why?” she whispered in awe. “ _How_?”

Maydiira laughed lightly. “Every Favored Soul gains wings once their faith reaches a … peak, I suppose you would say. They are a symbol of a Favored Soul’s connection with their god – an exaltation of both that god and his or her servant’s achievements. I cannot believe your church did not tell you about it. ”

Rhaine was silent for a second before she replied softly, “I do not think that they knew.”

\------------------------------------------------------

She spent the next two months with the drow of Sel Sreen’aur, during which time Maydiira taught Rhaine how to properly exercise and carry her wings, as well as generally cope with her new pair of limbs. At first, they were an incredible nuisance more than anything else. It took several tendays for Rhaine to mentally locate her new muscles and then physically manipulate them. Many times the Doomguide nearly dissolved into tears out of sheer frustration, cursing herself for ever looking upon Maydiira’s wings with even the slightest bit of envy. Her new friend reassured her that she understood the feeling well, and that it would eventually pass - that Rhaine would soon look at her wings as the beautiful symbol that they were.

The Doomguide herself, however, was not so convinced.

Maydiira also took the opportunity to teach Rhaine basic drowish, so that she could converse with Mother Neerthara and the other denizens of the colony in simple terms. It was a skill that would also no doubt prove useful in any future encounters with drow that the Doomguide might have. Additionally, in return for her help, the local smith kindly reforged Rhaine’s backplate as a temporary replacement until she could have a proper suit made to accommodate her wings. She would have paid, but the smith insisted it was a favor for a favor. And besides, with the addition of the dracolich’s hoard to the settlement’s coffers, the once-poor colony of drow was already swimming in gold.

At last, though, it came time for Rhaine to return to her home. Having sufficiently rested from her ordeal, she could not put off leaving any longer. Maydiira and Mother Neerthara both were reluctant to see her go, but they understood, and they wished her well in her future journeys. With the magic of Maydiira’s crystal ring, Rhaine was teleported back to Waterdeep, where she was received with much excitement. It was an excitement that echoed the awed enthusiasm after her return from Rashemen, and she was not certain that she shared in the joy of her peers. Her fading fame had been reawakened, and she could not go anywhere in the City of Splendors for someone requesting her blessings or bombarding her with questions about her wings. No one could talk to her without staring at them or trying to touch them.

Desperate to escape this unsolicited attention, she decided to leave the city again for a while, turning Angel’s head northwards and heading someplace she thought she would never return to again… someplace where the people did not worship appearances or beg for benedictions.

The Clanhold of the Ironfist dwarves.

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Fortunately, the dwarves of the Ironfist Clanhold obligingly forged a new harness of mithral armor for Rhaine in exchange for her old one, as they could easily melt down the adamantine to use for something else. This new armor was designed to be both functional and slightly feminine, in addition to being appropriate for a winged warrior. Its style was like every other engraved dwarven armor, with the exception of the cuirass, which was secured in such a fashion as to leave a gap large enough to allow space for her wings. Unfortunately, it also made her vulnerable where her back was bare and where no jerkin protected her underarms, between the top of the cuirass and the pauldrons. As she was unable to wear standard arming doublets or shirts with the armor, the dwarves also fashioned a halter-necked leather vest to be donned underneath the cuirass. To keep the plates from chafing her arms, they made thick suede sleeves attached to the pauldrons. The rest of the silvery suit was made of standard cuisses, tassets, couters, poleyns, vambraces, gauntlets, greaves, and sabatons. A helm was crafted to go with it – open-faced as she detested visors – with a fanciful black horsehair plume.

Finally outfitted properly and ready for battle again, Rhaine eventually returned to Waterdeep and the monotonous routine of temple duties. Having been absent from the city for a fair while, her fame had begun to fade once more, and she resolved to keep a low profile. For several more months, almost a year after she had returned from Rashemen, her efforts to stay unnoticed by the general populace seemed to be paying off, and at last she achieved some measure of peace.

But it was not to last.


	40. The Highest Purpose

Rhaine knew that she was dreaming, but it was a dream of the void. Her eyelids were closed and could not be forced open, there was nothing but darkness all around her, and yet she felt as if she should be aware of something… something _important_. Her pulse quickened in alarm until a familiar presence slipped into her mind, a sense of calm permeating her being.

_“Be at peace. I wish to speak with you.”_

She felt her lips turn up slightly at the corners, even immersed in deep sleep as she was. _“This is quite a different approach, my lord.”_

_“It is appropriate for what I have planned. I wish to offer you my gratitude… and to bestow a gift upon you.”_

Her thoughts became a storm of questions. _“Whatever for, my lord?”_

There was a lengthy pause, the quiet darkness swirling around her… _deep_.

_“Countless mortals put their faith and trust in the gods, but there are few whom we may trust in return. These few are exalted beyond all others, for they alone embody everything that we value. Throughout your life, you have shown me that you are one of these few, and I have ultimately seen fit to reward you for your dedicated service… the greatest boon that I may give to any mortal. Do not protest with thoughts of unworthiness. It is not something that you may refuse.”_

Kelemvor paused again.

“ _You are now my Chosen.”_

Rhaine could not even think of a reply before searing pain struck her right in the heart, spreading like wildfire through her limbs. All her muscles tensed as if she had been electrocuted, lightning tracing every vein in her body. She gasped like a fish, but could not breathe, silent tears trickling from the outer corners of her eyes. Her head swam, red and yellow sparks crisscrossing her vision.

But then, that pain stopped as suddenly as it had begun, instantly replaced with soothing warmth, and her limbs relaxed again. That warm serenity continued to grow to an intensity she had never felt before, his presence more clear than ever. And when he finally spoke once more, she shivered in surprise. She could actually _feel_ his words as well as hear them, brushing against her mind, the emotion they carried _tangible_ ; he seemed slightly concerned but, at the same time, pleased…

_“You are now immune to the ravages of time. From this moment forward, your body will no longer age, and you will find you are far more resilient against effects that would be lethal to most others. That is as much as I can protect you from death, however… you may still be slain by weapons or a well-chosen spell._

_“You will also discover, among other abilities, that you can see the world much as I. This will take practice to maintain, but with focus, the faith of others will be as plain to you as the clothes they wear. Though you have not the authority to pronounce Judgment on any, you may use this information to your advantage in your future endeavors._

_“But most importantly, I have entrusted in you the power of_ True Death _. With but a single gesture, you may strip any undead being of all of its protections… magical or otherwise. This will hasten its destruction and the release of its spirit to my realm. But know that the power required to perform such an act is so great that you may only use it once in a day’s cycle. Choose carefully._

_“The privileges of your rank are many, but I warn you: once a divine spark is ignited, the flame is destined to grow. In time, it will consume you in its fire, and you will no longer be permitted to walk the Prime. Such is the price of true immortality. Though the divine may touch the world of mortals, we may not stay among them for long. Thus, remember well – your ultimate fate will still be departure from this world… by death, or by ascension._

_“Now rest, my Chosen… and when you awaken, your life will begin anew.”_

With that, his presence withdrew, and she was instantly sunk into a deep, dreamless slumber.

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Rhaine woke well after dawn to the sound of someone desperately hammering away on her door, barely a pause between the knocks. She groggily pushed herself up, finding that she had been lying in the exact same position in which she had initially fallen asleep the night before. Her body had made quite the indention in the mattress.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” she called in a cracking voice as she stood up, wobbling a little with a bit of dizziness. The Doomguide then walked up to the door, opening it slightly to see who it was that was so insistent on speaking with her _right now_. “Yes?”

“ _Rhaine_!”

Father Dunstan pushed the door further open and slammed into her, wrapping her up in a positively crushing embrace.

“Dunstan, what in the-?” she began, before she recalled her late-night promotion.

 _Oh gods, they know_ , she thought.

“You… you’re…?”

“Chosen, yes. His lordship broke the news last night in a rather uncomfortable fashion,” she answered flatly, rubbing her chest with one hand. It still hurt a little. “I’m assuming by your excitement that everyone else knows, too?”

He nodded emphatically, a grin plastered to his face. “All of us. I imagine every Kelemvorite in the Realms knows, now. Judging by everyone’s chatter, it was a simultaneous announcement through all of our dreams. It was brief, of course… simply amounting to ‘Rhaine Alcinea is my Chosen.’ Regardless, it was startling to say the least. The newest acolytes are still in a bit of a shock. The whole clergy is gathered in the nave, waiting on you.”

 _So much for laying low_.

Rhaine shook her head as if to clear it. “What in the Hells are they waiting for? A speech? By the gods…” she trailed, running her hands through her tangled hair and closing her eyes in frustration.

He sighed, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. “What do you expect? You’re the greatest thing that’s happened to this church, and you’ve just become even greater.”

Rhaine sucked in a deep breath. “All right. Give me some time to get dressed and I’ll be there in a minute.”

Dunstan nodded and ducked out, closing the door behind him. She then quickly garbed herself in her usual robes and ran a comb through her hair before making her way through the corridors and into the nave. Just as he had told her, everyone in the temple was gathered there, chattering away like magpies. Their gossip stopped abruptly as she walked in, though, silence rapidly falling over the crowd. There was a few moments of stillness before everyone, including the High Father, dropped to their knees.

“Wait… no… stop!” she cried, throwing out her hands. “Get up! By the gods, _get up!_ ”

They then jumped to their feet, wary of incurring her wrath. Their faces were writ with expressions of awe and surprise… even _fear_. She looked out over them all, shaking her head slowly. The silence that followed was almost deafening.

“I know,” she began, her voice shaking a little, “that this is all a shock to you. It’s not much better for me, believe me. I had no idea that this was coming, and quite frankly, I’m not certain that the best prophet in Faerûn could have predicted it. Or, perhaps they could have… perhaps others see something in me that I do not see in myself. Either way, what is done is done.

“That being said, nothing about our relationship has changed. I am not a saint. I am not an authority figure over the rest of you. I’m just another servant of the Lord of the Dead, just like all of you. Yes, I’ve been lucky. Yes, I’ve been blessed. But this could just as easily have happened to any of you.”

She paused a moment, and then continued, “Take it as a sign that Kelemvor is watching you. All of you. Serve him faithfully, and he will reward you. Now please, return to your duties and leave me in peace.”

An overwhelming sound of shuffling feet filled the nave as everyone there quickly dispersed, scrambling to obey her command as if they had not heard a single word that she had just said to them. Rhaine waited until they all left her alone in the nave before looking up at the statue behind the altar and sighing heavily.

_My lord, what have you done to me?_

\------------------------------------------------------

She picked up her old journal. Father Dunstan had given it to her before she left on Gerard’s orders, what seemed like ages ago. It chronicled her adventures in Neverwinter and Rashemen… along with her recent forays into the Dalelands and Cormyr. Leather-bound and stamped with Kelemvor’s symbol in gold, the book bore signs of much punishment – it was water stained and slightly burned in places where stray magic and rain both had penetrated her backpack.

As she flipped through the pages, she realized that the dates of her entries had become farther and farther apart as time progressed. Still, the journal was almost full, now; there were only a few blank pages remaining. Sighing heavily again, she sat at her desk and held the book open with one hand, dipping her quill into her inkwell with the other. After a few moments of silence, she began to write, the tip of her pen scratching rhythmically as she put her thoughts to paper.

_Death is a natural part of life. So I have been taught since my youth. Never before, though, have I realized that we mortals may die more than once. Death is more than just the termination of the physical body. It is a partial end to what was, and the refinement of what remains._

_Thus, parts of me have died… and I have become the stronger for it._

_First was the death of my innocence. The Passing of Father Gerard, the brutal loss of my childhood friend, Amie Fern, and the demises of so many others with whom I had lived, shook me from my idealistic mindset and thrust me into the coldness of reality. Yet, I grew to be a better woman because of the experience… my eyes were no longer colored with the rosy tint of eternal optimism._

_Second was the death of my doubt. My journeys to Neverwinter and beyond tested my faith further than most souls could ever withstand. But through the fire of pain and suffering I found new hope, and at last the words of my beloved god shattered all uncertainty. In the very realm of death itself I found life again. My faith and my spirit both were reborn._

_Now, the touch of my god has brought death again. This time, it is an identity that has Passed… I am no longer a mere priestess, serving in his temples until age severs my ability to function. Though I mourn for such simplicity, it is forever lost to me. Yet, I have at once been fortified and reshaped by that same immortal hand. Indeed, I_ am _his hand upon the Prime, now._

The scratching paused as she looked up, absentmindedly playing with the feather of her quill. There was only a small bit of blank parchment left, now. She had to be economical with her words.

After a few minutes, she smiled to herself and began to write again.

_I have been born again for the highest purpose. For is there any higher honor than serving as the right hand of one’s god?_

_What better place, then, to end the Tale of my mortal days?_

Another pause.

_But as with death, the end is never truly the end, but the beginning of something new._

Satisfied, she set down her quill and blew softly onto the parchment to dry the ink. Then, taking a leather strap from her bag, she bound the tome closed. Finally, she produced a scroll from that same bag – one of a handful that Safiya had given her during her stay in Rashemen. Unrolling the magical manuscript, she set one hand upon the journal and whispered the words writ upon the page.

At once, the journal glowed with a violet light and became hard as stone. Now, it was entirely unreadable to anyone, including herself. The charm would only fail if she purposefully dispelled it, perished, or ascended. Such was the strength of the Red Wizard’s enchantments.

Smiling again, she took the journal and set it upon the small shelf above her desk. There it would remain, untouched, for a great many years.

_Rhaine’s Tale._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Legacy of Rhaine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327865) by [SnippetsRUs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnippetsRUs/pseuds/SnippetsRUs)




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